


Take What You Want

by So3ia_The_Destroyer



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Bandits & Outlaws, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Communism, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gangs, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Italian Mafia, Journalism, Medium Honor Arthur Morgan, POV Arthur Morgan, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining, Protective Arthur Morgan, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/So3ia_The_Destroyer/pseuds/So3ia_The_Destroyer
Summary: Arthur isn't the man he used to be. He's not the young man who could believe anything. He has more doubts, fears and worries than he could ever care for as of late. No problem has an easy solution anymore.However, he might've found one in the educated and worldy journalist he managed to stumble across.If she can transform the narrative and the public image of the gang, could it be enough to save what he cares for most in this world?“All we are not stares back at what we are.”― W.H. Auden
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Dutch van der Linde/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	1. Acquaintance

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this idea for sometime. I hope that it can find some footing with the people it might connect with.

The ferns parted, and between the stalks, a pair of eyes glowed in the low firelight. Arthur caught his breath, gave a tug and found his hands were tied behind his back and his feet bound with rope. He caught sight of a pair of bodies swinging overhead. He took a second glance and knew their faces as travelers who’d passed him on the road earlier in the day. 

It was dark now. Not even a sliver of setting sun colored the the clouds. The sky looked inky and without stars tonight. He could feel the rain coming, felt it in his bones and in the newly healing tissue in his shoulder. He shouldn’t have strayed too far from camp, at least not right after that run in with the O’Drisolls, but he’d been too eager to get out and moving. Now, his head ached, and he was tied to a tree stump with some predator eyeing up his prone flesh. 

A wet gurgling sound made his ears prick up to his right, and he turned his gaze to look at the hanging travelers, still a violent shade of blue and green in the firelight. No, they wouldn’t be making a sound ever again. A man dropped to his knees with a thump. Clearly one of the Murphee brood, as shreds of rough-hewn shirt shone through the tattered overalls of the new corpse on the ground, the blood still gurgling forth from his throat. 

Arthur blinked, staring at the body while his pulse picked up. If those were his captors, where was their killer? He squinted in the dark and couldn’t see anything beyond the gleam of the fire and the blood glittering and pooling in the flattened grass beneath the body.

He was usually calm in these instances. It wasn’t like Arthur to feel unmoored in a sticky situation, but here he was, a boat bobbing away from the dock. His eyes flitted around, trying to catch a hint of how many men were still guarding the camp and why they hadn’t killed him yet, like the other two hanging above. 

A small, dark shape raced through the brush and Arthur’s eye caught and held it as it crept up behind a pair of advancing Murphees. The shape shot up to full height, an arm sliding past the neck of the Murphee in one quick motion and then disappearing once again into the brush to the left of the pair. The remaining member of the brood stopped mid-sentence, turned and found his comrade dead in the dirt. 

“Phillip,” the man whispered in panic, his toothless mouth forming strangely around the word. 

He dropped to his knees, hands dipping to cradle the body close. And then he was gone too, tipping back as the shadow slipped forward and dove the knife through the vital parts in his neck. Arthur could see it hesitate, a small, shadowed outline against the rough line of light from the fire and the tall grass on all sides. His mind finally settled on a new kind of panic, as he could clearly see the shadow was looking at him, waiting and watching him.

It took a step forward, confident, but terribly short strides carrying the little body slowly into the light of the fire. Arthur’s thoughts raced, wondering just what could kill all those men so silently. He cast an eye around, catching more bodies on the ground than he had seen the thing take down personally. He caught sight of a pistol in bad shape, a leaving from one of the brood, just a little ways away. 

He flung his entire body forward and onto his belly, his weight nearly knocking the wind out of him. He twisted his hands, caught the pistol on his finger and drew it to him. He gripped it in one bound hand, turned on his side, cocked it and fired it into the night, knowing that it wouldn’t prove very intimidating to the slowly approaching shadow. 

The thing stopped approaching. A pair of hands shot up, all five fingers splayed in the fire light, casting long shadows over the canopy of leaves above.

“Don’t shoot,” a woman’s voice echoed through the small clearing. The dark figure moved closer and Arthur’s hazy mind finally started to make sense of what he was seeing. It was so small because it was female. She stepped forward into the firelight and he could see she was armed to the teeth, throwing knives strapped into little holsters all up the line of her leg, a pistol on her left hip with a pearl handle, a bow and a notch of arrows slung across her back. 

“I’m here to help,” she finally supplied, and Arthur relaxed a bit. Perhaps this is how fate would smile on him: all those times he’d helped passer’s by on the road or sucked venom from a snake bite for a stranger were finally paying off. 

After assessing her small arsenal, his eyes bounced back up to her face and he was shocked to see it was somewhat cherubic in nature. Waves of curls drifted and corkscrewed around her sharp cheek bones. Big eyes reflected fire light and glittered while pink lips parted with sharp, quick breaths. She bent down then, pulled that big hunting knife from her scabbard and sliced the ropes wound three at a time around his boots in a couple of hacks. She must keep it terribly sharp.

He dropped the pistol then, and spread his hands wide for her to snap the binding clean off, too. He sat up, pulled the gag from his mouth and breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice gruff and disused. 

“Sure thing,” she nodded and took a seat on a log across from him at the fire. She stared at him for some time and he was perturbed at how hard it was to understand her expression. He prided himself on being able to, generally speaking, get a good read from people. He boiled it down to fear tainting his thoughts, his racing blood must be limiting his sense of perception. 

“I’m sure I was next,” he motioned with his chin to the still hanging bodies.

“I don’t think that’s true,” she shrugged. 

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Not familiar with the Murphees?”

“Sure, I am. But even they have an appreciation for the monetary value of some of their captures.”

“The monetary value?” Arthur asked, his hand snaking toward that rusty pistol he’d set aside before, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Who knew how fast he could be without his wits about him. 

“The bounty on your head sure is pretty. Even to them that don’t often bother with money.”

“Is that what this is about then?” He growled. “You could have just left me bound up if you were so sure. I’d probably be a bit easier to manage.”

“I get the sense that you’re never very easy to manage, Arthur,” she whispered. 

Arthur’s instincts told him to kill. But he hesitated. Why cut him free and then mention the bounty? Clearly this woman wasn’t stupid. She was much smaller than him too, so she likely didn’t have much in the way of pride associated with her finesse in fisticuffs.

“Funny, isn’t it?” She questioned and a small smile graced her lips that made her look like a Victorian painting more than a woman of flesh and blood. “I’ve saved your life and you’re still debating whether you should kill me. Don’t bother shooting that gun, you’ll just offend me. It’s empty.”

Arthur weighed it in his hands and flipped it open to be certain. Sure, was empty. 

“Get to the point?” He snapped, impatient, hungry and tired.

“Sorry, I just, didn’t think I’d actually stumble across one of you. It’s a wide world.”

“One of us?”

“The Van Der Linde’s,” she explained. “Forgive me, I’ve been rude. My name is Evangeline Heron.”

She stood then, and made a flash of a movement that made Arthur jump a little, but she was just offering a hand up. He took it and heard his bones creak and crinkle as he took to his feet. He looked down then, and was struck by just how very small she was. Surely, she must’ve been shorter than any of the other women in camp. Even little Tilly was bigger than her by at least a couple of inches. 

“I suppose you already know my full name?” he shrugged. Rendered suddenly awkward by his exhaustion and uncertainty of the woman. 

“You need rest. Come back with me,” Evangeline stated and turned her back on him as she began to pick her way silently up the hill. 

“I’m afraid I shouldn’t, they’ll be expecting me back.” 

She paused and turned, only a black, hard to see figure among the ferns and bushes. 

“I can offer a warm bed and shelter for the night, and food. You’ll need it.”

“What’s the date?”

“I don’t rightly know,” she shrugged and he followed her forward after kicking out the fire and throwing a glance at the pile of bodies around the camp. She must have cleared out nearly 10 men by the time he had finally awoken to catch a glimpse of the last kills. A part of him wished he had seen it, just to appreciate how she’d managed it. 

“You haven’t been missing for more than a day,” she explained as he followed. 

“How’d you find me?”

He drew level to her, crossing the ground that had taken her leisurely steps so long to cover in only a few of his. 

“A family of German’s saw you taken, apparently, the Murphees grabbed you right in front of the homesteader’s property. They came and told me about it. They didn’t think they could do much, personally.”

“Told you about it?” Arthur smirked despite himself, sending this tiny woman to go and save him seemed truly absurd. 

She looked up at him then, and he could see the furrow in her brows as she watched him. He couldn’t help but chuckle just a bit. 

“Lucky they did, eh? Or else you might’ve died before your time.”

“My time is my time.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you care to let the Pinkertons make that distinction.”

He bristled at that and stopped and grabbed her shoulder. Like he thought, she was rather light weight. He could feel the tension and strength of her small arm beneath his fingers, and though she was armed, he thought it wouldn’t mean much if it really came to hand-to-hand. 

“Just how am I supposed to take your kindness when you keep bringing that up?”

She glanced down at his hand on her shoulder, but he wouldn’t relinquish his grip. 

“You’re going to have to, at least until we find your horse. Which we can do tonight. I wasn’t just kidnapped and suffering a head wound-induced black out for several hours. I feel fine. We can go start searching now.”

Head wound. Arthur could feel it now. Lower than he expected, nearer to his neck than the top of his skull. At being mentioned, it started to make itself known with the throbbing he’d been ignoring before.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Arthur shrugged. “How do I know you don’t already have my horse? And you’re just leading me into a trap? It’s not as if you could lift me yourself. I doubt you could get me onto the back of a horse if I were still out cold.”

“I guess we’re lucky you’re not still out cold then, aren’t we?” She looked up at him in the dark, the low light glimmering still in her eyes as it reflected in the clouds above. “Look, Arthur, I know you don’t want to believe me, and that’s just fine. You don’t have to take my hospitality, I gathered your belongings from the camp before I came back to get you, as it could’ve gotten messy, and I didn’t think they should have access to the absolute arsenal you carry around. You can feel free, once we reach the top of this hill, to leave me and go on your merry way. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to help you and that gang.”

“Help us?” He cast an eye over her slight stature again and she visibly bristled. 

“Yes, some people have more to offer than just pure brawn. Besides, I think I proved myself more than capable in the name of violence back there.” 

She reached up and patted where he was still holding onto her. 

“If you need help climbing the hill, you can give me your arm and I’ll take some of your weight. I realize you’re not feeling too great after all of that.”

He pulled his hand back and shook his head slowly, peeved that she was implying he’d need to lean on her. As if that were even physically possible. She shrugged. 

“Let’s speak of it all in the morning, after you’ve gotten some real rest, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed. They reached the top of a hill and a growl echoed around them, along with the quick snap of menacing jaws. 

The woman made a small noise with her mouth and held out her hand. A large dog trotted out of the brush around the horse and wandered nearer. She nudged Arthur and he offered the uncertain dog his fingers to sniff and scrubbed it behind the ears a little.

“This is Caraxes,” she explained and climbed into the saddle. 

“What kind of name is that?”

“It’s from some books I like. Don’t worry about it.” She offered a hand down to him. 

“I don’t wanna pull your arm out of it’s socket, scooch forward and gimme a stirrup.” 

She huffed, but offered him his requests and he pulled himself up onto the horse. His body groaned at the strain and he could tell the adrenaline was starting to drain away, it would leave him sleepy and worn thin in only a few moments. All those familiar aches would be back, then he’d be out seeking that rush again in the morning, just to lessen the load of his thoughts. His mind wandered as she trotted along under the stars, his hands holding the back ridge of the saddle as they went. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to ride like this. 

“There anyone else waiting where we’re going?” He asked trying to keep the tiredness from his voice. 

“Yes,” she nodded as the approached a little cabin that he’d never seen before, though he’d rode past on this stretch of road hundreds of times. “A little boy named Benjamin is there.”

“He yours?” 

“No, but I took him in.”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“What do you mean?”

“That you’re supporting a child,” he explained.

“You’d trust me more if I had a child with me? Seems a little stupid on your part.”

“You’re just a woman with a boy.”

“Sure, who killed all the men who had held you captive.”

He shrugged, and though she couldn’t see it. He was certain she could feel it. 

She hopped down and led the horse into a small shack. Arthur stepped down after her and he caught sight of another large dog approaching from the shadows. 

“Whose this?” Arthur asked, forgetting that he actually didn’t care about the names of the dogs. He held out a welcoming hand and at a nod from the owner the dog proceeded forward for a pat.

“Vhaegar.” She replied as she lit a lantern with a strike of a match and lit up the whole area. Arthur caught full sight of the dogs now. They were bigger than most he’d seen, almost like wolves, with long snouts, but with German Shepherd coloring. 

“If you’re so tough how come you need these big animals with you?”

“I’m still a woman alone in the woods, Mr.Morgan. I’m hardly invincible, and I’m not very formidable if I don’t have the element of surprise on my side. As you’ve so eloquently observed multiple times.”

She shot him a small smile, and it made her face seem so welcoming that he simply had to return it. 

“Forgive me,” he mumbled and took the lantern as she held it out to him. She retrieved his two guns from her saddle and then his satchel as well. She traded him, and led the way toward the small cabin. 

“Nothing to forgive. You’re just curious. It’s not a crime.”

When she opened the door, Arthur caught a glimpse of the well-lit area and found it to be larger than he thought. It was still a one room, but it was spacious, with two beds and a nice big kitchen table in the center. 

“Build this yourself?”

She laughed and shook her head. It was a big, boisterous laugh and he got the sudden impression that she used it to make up for her size. 

“No, I’ve no skill as a builder. I found the place around a year ago and cleared it out."

“Who was in here?”

“O’Driscoll’s. The net they cast is getting awful wide lately.”

Arthur mumbled his agreement and stepped inside. He finally noticed the small boy sitting at the kitchen table with some trepidation in his eyes. He had a thin face with an intelligent gaze for a child, he wasn’t quick to smile, anyone could see it upon meeting him. 

“Ben, this is Arthur. He’ll be staying with us for the night.”

Ben nodded and went back to his reading, nonplussed by the big, burly visitor. 

Evangeline pulled a pot from out over the fire and ladled a brown stew into a bowl for Arthur. He drank it in one gulp and sucked the water she gave him down eagerly. With food in his belly, his drowsiness started to settle in heavier than before. 

She glanced at him after taking his plate away and refilling his glass of water. 

“Go on, we’ll chat in the morning. There’s a bed made for you right over there.” 

He followed the line of her finger and found a small twin bed with a red coverlet that must have usually been the boys before this. 

“I won’t take his bed.”

“It’s fine, he’ll sleep with me. You need the bed more than him now.”

Arthur shrugged and settled himself on the mattress after setting his things on the floor. He fell asleep watching the dog sniff at his satchel, lick his fingers and then curl up to keep him company in his rest.


	2. To Sow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is struck.
> 
> “But it is impossible to go through life without trust; that is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself.”  
> ― Graham Greene, The Ministry of Fear

When Arthur woke, he felt disorientated. Sleeping under the stars for so long made it a strange to suddenly find a roof over your head and daylight barely spilling in through drawn curtains. 

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The fire was out, the larger bed across from him was made. Things were scattered about the one-roomed cabin that made the place look inherently lived in. Half burned candles stacked together on the little bedside tables next to piles of books. Pools of wax had dropped to the worn floorboards and hardened there. Indeed, it seemed books were the most prevalent item visible in the cabin, alongside a pair of neat little leather bags that couldn’t carry much in the way of clothing and supplies simply for their size. After a moment of consideration, he concluded that it was probably the only thing the two of them could manage weight-wise. The boy was slight and she was too. 

His eyes traveled over the length of the table and found an empty mug next to a steaming pot of coffee. He rose, poured for himself and went out to find some cold water to splash on his face. 

Once he’d left the front door, he could make out the neat rows of wild flowers she’d grown from seed lining either side of a little stone path that wound through the wet dirt to the little barn. He heard hoof clips and stalked forward, his hand traveling to his revolver at his hip. In the daylight, it was easy to see how you could miss the structure. It was ringed in by a thick, yet well-kept hedge and past that lay around 20 feet of thick tree growth that she didn’t bother to trim or keep so neat. 

The hooves drew closer and she pressed through a small space in the trees, the boy walking ahead of her. Ben’s eyes settled on Arthur and he nodded, tipping his hat. The boy merely twitched a lip at him and then disappeared behind the small cabin.

“I think we found something of yours,” she called out and Arthur’s eyes finally settled on his horse, Lonny. He approached and pet her nose with a smile. He nodded in thanks and finished drawing the horse into the small barn next to Evangeline’s black gypsy cob. Arthur paused taking in the big horse and thinking of the big dogs. For such a tiny thing, she sure liked holding dominion over creatures that were much bigger than her. 

He removed the saddle from Lonny’s back, fished the brush out from the bag, and began brushing her down in silence. 

Evangeline waited, leaning against the slowly rotting frame of the little shelter and watching Arthur’s movements. 

“You headed out now?”

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

“We could. I just want to make sure you still want to. It’s not as if you have to.”

“I suppose it’s a kindness I could offer in response to your hospitality,” he supplied, somewhat reluctantly.

“Oh, so you’re doing me a favor now, is that it?”

“I’m just repaying the favor,” he shrugged, finally packing the brush away and then turning to regard the woman. 

In the daylight, the little woman looked more sad than cocky. The big eyes that had looked so innocent the night before were now tinged with some deep sorrow. They brought to mind the sort of pool you might catch Ophelia’s lifeless body drifting through. They were resolute, unchanging, and heavy. Arthur felt a bit of discomfort under her direct gaze, but he didn’t glance away. Instead, he mirrored her body language and leaned against the wall of the shelter. He sniffed and rubbed the back of his neck to find the bump from where he’d been hit, the smell of horseflesh filling his nostrils. 

“Would you like to come inside?” She asked.

He shrugged and she nodded in reply. 

“Before I was this,” she made a loose gesture to herself that Arthur couldn’t make heads or tails of. “I was a writer, a journalist of sorts, if you will.” 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed and she smiled as if she found some humor in his reaction. 

“Don’t be so doubtful, Arthur, I wrote under a pseudonym. No one knew about my name, my age, or my gender.”

She paused, waiting for some response that Arthur wasn’t going to give her. Silence often made people feel uncomfortable, and he liked that.

“I suppose, what I’m trying to say is that the right pitch can make a world of difference. If you frame a kind of behavior in a certain way, people are likely to forget the side they used to dislike. Take the Civil War, for example. The propaganda the Confederates spread around the South still holds sway down there. That’s how powerful an idea can be, at least, a well-written one that’s disseminated with agility.” 

“What’s this got to do with us?” Arthur finally asked. 

“Your man Dutch, his ideas aren’t all too different from Evelyn Miller’s. He’s a bit more of an anarchist, but if he wanted to be, he could be a powerful politician, even something of a philosopher. He’s a good enough speaker, or else he wouldn’t have such a large gang following him like puppies across the country.”

She paused a moment and ran a finger along her lips as her eyes skittered across the turned-up ground beneath the horse’s hooves. 

“The Pinkertons are relying on private money, capitalist pig money, to hunt you down. I’m suggesting you change the narrative. I think we have a chance to take apart everything that is wrong with America, now. But we have to phrase it right, we have to endear the public, create the right message. And then the people, the public, will do everything else.”

Arthur studied her for a moment, her face looked so bright and hopeful it betrayed her youth. Or perhaps, he found her youth in that gaze, so full of fire all of a sudden. But beneath that hopefulness, he caught the flashes of a deep-seeded anger that gave him pause. If he were a younger man, he likely wouldn't have found issue, but nowadays, that sort of anger seemed like a warning sign rather than a merit. 

“What’s in it for you?”

“A better future for this shit hole country? A better future for Ben, for me, for everyone we pass on the street. A future where everything isn’t about taking advantage of the little man. It’s about creating a society that will root out and destroy those who choose to make a fool of a hard worker, of those who seek to take advantage and hoard wealth with reckless abandon.”

“You’re quite the talker,” Arthur observed. 

“No,” she shook her head adamantly. “I’m quite the writer.”

Arthur smiled despite himself, somewhat in awe of her self-assurance. 

“You’ve got a plan to go about this?” 

“Sure do,” she nodded. 

He pulled his mouth straight, remembering that he should not look so sold. That maybe he should push her to show him just how much she wanted it. Make her use those pretty words to form more pretty sentences again, but he found he couldn’t do it. By merely speaking with her, he’d caught this dream she had, too. He felt a little younger again, like how he felt when Dutch would talk about his own big ideas around the camp fire, his woman glued to his side as his eyes shone with possibilities and his words dripped with honeyed thoughts for the future. In a way, this little lady reminded him of a younger Dutch, and he could hardly deny the draw of the reality she wanted to create. Of the reality Dutch still thought he could forge into existence with pure will alone. Perhaps it wasn’t will that they lacked, but someone like her to do the translating onto paper.

He had to razz her a bit though, see how serious she was. He couldn’t just fall into a trap. What if she were a spy? What if this was an elaborate ruse? What if she intended for him to lead her to their camp and then she’d spill their location to the Pinkertons and write the end of their story rather than a new beginning? Last night she seemed very aware of just how much his head was worth. 

“You paint a pretty picture,” he conceded, and she grinned with sparkling white teeth that were eerily straight. “I don’t see any harm with bringing Dutch to meet you here. You can talk with him then?”

She faltered. 

“I’d like to meet in public,” she muttered. “You must understand, I’m basing all of this on the assumption that what I’ve read about you all is true. And while I could hardly leave you out there to rot, or send you on your way before I’d told you my ideas. I can’t just be a sitting duck, waiting here for you all to return when it fancies you.”

“You don’t trust us?”

“Do you trust me?” She snapped back. 

“I can’t yet, can I?” He muttered lowly and his look turned a little darker. She took a step backward, losing the casual body language as she assessed him openly, a hint of trepidation evident in her face. He felt the full measure of his stature, towering over her.

He looked slow and big, but she’d be surprised by how fast he could move if she tried something, especially now she had been so kind to give him some rest, some food and some coffee.

“We’ll both have to start trusting each other somewhere along the line if this is going to work. And I can see it in your face: You want it to work.”

“I said it: you paint a pretty picture,” he shrugged and finished the coffee in his cup. 

“I want to get started sooner rather than later. Where can you guys safely meet me in town?”

“There’s not many places that are safe for us anymore,” he shrugged. 

“How about Rhodes?”

“Can’t,” he shook his head. 

“Fine, Van Horn? A small saloon in Saint Denis?”

“I’ll talk to Dutch.”

Her shoulders sagged and she nodded. She turned, not looking Arthur in the eye. He didn’t want to believe it, but it pulled at him a little bit. Seeing that light flutter out of her eyes like that. He’d seen it too many times with Dutch. Seen the dreamer falter and be replaced by something unsavory. 

“Hold it,” he muttered, almost a whisper. 

She turned, her sad, brown eyes returned to him and he sighed exaggeratedly. 

“Can the boy stay by himself for the day?”

“Sure, he’ll manage. We’re secluded enough.” 

“Alright well, if you don’t want to be patient and wait for my letter to arrange a meeting, then perhaps we can go now.”

“Go now?”

“Sure, I’ll take you down. We can go on my horse, and I’ll blindfold you before you get too close so we have a sense of security. You’ll be able to talk with Dutch, and if you don’t find common footing, then I can just take you back up here.”

A hesitant smile started on her lips, but stopped as Arthur put up a tentative finger. “But, keep in mind, you’re having me bring you into a den of outlaws and I can’t guarantee the outcome.”

“So, what, you’re saying is you’ll let them rip me limb from limb or something?” She a smile pulled at her lips.

“No, but I can’t say what Dutch will do if you manage to wound his pride.”

“Fine. If I die, you’ll need to come check on Ben.”

“I will not be doing that.”

“You’re going to leave him to the Murphees?”

“The boy is not my responsibility,” Arthur huffed with finality. But he saw the flare up in her eyes and he knew it wasn’t over, he straightened, drawing himself to his full height. He tilted his chin down at her as she stepped up to him, almost too close.

She peered back, not letting his hard outlaw’s gaze ruffle her feathers. She studied him intently and he paused to take note that her intense scrutiny cause some uneasy feeling in him. 

“Alright, let’s go.”

“What was that about?” He asked, drawing back a step from her before he even had the chance to think about how he was yielding the ground. It didn’t feel shameful though, it almost felt comical.

“I know you won’t leave him up here by himself,” she replied shortly.

“You think you know.” He bristled a little, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“I’m certain you won’t,” she supplied again and turned on her heel to go and pack her things into a neat little leather satchel.

He fumbled for words a little, before reminding himself that he didn’t have to respond. Though, he wondered why she thought she could see that in him. Perhaps she just thought he was a better man than he was? 

“You’re not bringing any weapons along in that bag, I hope.”

“What if we get ambushed on the way down?” She cocked her head.

“No weapons. Don’t bring weapons into the camp.”

“Why? You could just confiscate them when you blindfold me. That way we won’t be risking it on the road.”

“You’re leaving the child here in Murphee country and you’re worried about risking it on the road.”

“I’m just saying, that if they got you once, they might be able to do it again. And you’ll want me to be able to help if they do.”

“Somehow,” Arthur started, as he began fastening the saddle onto Lonny. “I don’t think you’ll be much use if the Murphee’s decide to confront us head on. You said it yourself, you’re not much in a fight without the element of surprise.”

She huffed and returned back into the cabin where he heard a number of items being slammed onto a table. She stomped back out and called for the boy. Arthur smirked without thinking about it. 

“I feel like all I do with you is compromise,” she muttered as if she didn’t want him to hear.

“Yeah, must be a real change of scenery for you; talking to someone who’s not a child and has to do everything you say,” Arthur chuckled and pulled himself into the saddle. 

The boy and the dogs bounded around the side of the house and stopped next to the woman. She explained everything to him shortly, told him to keep the dogs close and said she might be gone for more than a day. He nodded his head and turned his gaze to Arthur as she walked over toward the horse. They studied each other for a moment, the boy’s eyes searching his own before he offered a sad smile and went back to playing behind the cabin. He wondered, briefly, how a pair so small could still seem so fierce in their own right.

Arthur held a hand down to Evangeline and pulled her up into the saddle with less ease than he anticipated. 

“You’re heavier than you look,” he commented as he led Lonny back out onto the road. 

“And you’re uglier than your bounty poster,” she snapped back and he laughed despite himself. 

“Calm down, will you? We’ve got a bit of a ride. I can’t have you being all piss and vinegar the whole way.”

“Well, don’t prod at me then. I always thought you’d be more pleasant than the others.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, I’m probably the least pleasant of them.” 

She huffed, but remained silent as Arthur kicked Lonny into a gallop, taking the two back to Clemen’s Point. He paused a moment, as he slowed up to pass a wagon. 

“Why’d you think I’d be the most pleasant one? Because I was the ugliest according to the bounty posters?”

She laughed and he smiled despite himself. That boisterous chuckle of hers didn't even attempt to be musical and cute like all the other ladies he’d come across. It was contagious in it’s own way. 

“No, the German family recognized you. Said you’d helped them. And I’d heard from some lady in Emerald Ranch that you picked her up on the side of the road when her horse died right out from under her. Seems you have a track record for providing the odd kindness that the others simply don’t.”

Her apparent research of his past good deeds caught him a little off guard. But, he had to admit, if you were in the practice of researching and reading into things like her previous career might suggest, it was probably second nature to her.

“You shouldn’t listen so much to gossip,” he scolded lightly. 

“Thanks for the tip. I'll check my expectations from now on.”

They rode on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying things thus far. 
> 
> As we proceed, I'll be switching my update schedule to be on Mondays, generally speaking. My hope is that I'll provide you with a little something to open up the week with the right way.


	3. Consultation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch gets to meet the promising new comer.
> 
> “Hurricanes of entitlement, all swirl and noise and destruction, nothing at their centers.”  
> ― Lauren Groff, Fates and Furies

“Alright, we’re getting close,” he commented and pulled Lonny off to the side of the road and into one of those green spaces that were common in the South. He swung off the horse and motioned for her to get down, too. He caught her rolling her eyes before she clumsily dismounted and he squinted at her struggling, before just reaching out a hand to help. 

“Thought with that big horse of yours you wouldn’t be having so much trouble."

“I know you’ve noticed, but I’ll explain anyway, my legs are short. It takes me some time when height is involved. You should see me with a bar stool.”

He smirked despite himself, but looked to the side and wiped it off with a hand at the corners of his mouth. She turned and faced him, breathed deeply and tilted her head. 

“I don’t have anything on-hand to blind fold myself. I just brought some paper and pens, per your request,” she gestured to her leather bag at her hip and he noticed the sparkle on her fingers. He reached out and grabbed her hand and brought it close under his gaze.

“Sheesh, lady, was you born yesterday?”

“Do I look like it?”

“You’re wearing diamonds to a meeting in a den of outlaws?”

She glanced down at the rings on her fingers and the bracelets round her wrists. “Oh,” she muttered, looking off balance for the first time. She glanced around. “I didn’t think of that. You think they won’t like it?”

She looked so earnest seeking his opinion that he couldn’t help but smirk again and shake his head.

“You don’t think much of the picture of yourself do you?”

She glanced down at her attire and back up at him in confusion. “I live in the wilderness with the boy. So, no, not much.”

“Where’d you get these anyway?” 

He took her hand in his and twisted them, examining the big blue stone surrounded by little white ones on one hand, a hammered bangle resting on her wrist, and that was only the beginning. 

“How do you do much with these on?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“I don't know, just don't knock em' around or use your fists too much,” she admitted and gestured to the empty space where he’d seen her arsenal of knives before. 

“And, as to where I got them. Some were gifts from, well, from someone, and then other’s I bought myself. Let’s just say, I made plenty of money at one time.”

He cast a strange look at her that she faltered under. 

“You’re an enigma Ms. Heron.”

She laughed again and examined her own hands. 

“Should I take them off?”

Arthur puzzled that for a moment, weighing her options. “No, keep em’ on. But just a word of warning if you do, it’ll draw attention.”

“I can defend myself,” she replied, almost sullenly. 

“I thought you needed the element of surprise to pull that off?”

She looked up, almost a little hurt, and then looked away quickly. Evangeline sighed and pulled a frown, “I’ll manage it.”

“I’m sure you will,” he patted her shoulder. Arthur began to unwind the bandanna around his neck. Once it was free, he deliberated and gave it a quick sniff.

“You got any of that money that bought you those rings left?” He questioned with some hesitation.

She looked at him for a moment, twisted her lips and nodded. 

“Maybe don’t mention that bit, then?” He supplied, though he figured the Dutch he knew wouldn’t have even considered this little lady as an opportunity. The trouble was that the Dutch he knew didn't make an appearance so often anymore. Still, the undeniable hope was that she’d rescue the old Dutch from the depths of whatever had started to take hold. She’d bring him back up to what he used to be, and Arthur would finally be able to rest easy once more.

“Listen, this doesn’t smell too pretty, but it’s all I have.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she smiled accommodatingly, bat her lashes for effect and kept them shut, allowing him to tie it tight around her head. He struggled, briefly with keeping her hair out of the way as the dark curls were unruly and growing more unruly in the southern heat and humidity.

“We’re close, but hold on to me since you can’t see.”

“Alright,” she nodded. 

He lifted her easily into the saddle and then climbed on in front of her. Her hands reached out inquisitively and landed on the broadness of his back. Unseeing, her fingers skimmed down to his hips. She wrapped her fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and he wondered at the response it elicited. He supposed he hadn’t been touched by a woman in a long time, but he’d never had someone grab him there. He felt the pull of his waist band on his hips and paused a little. 

She drew he hands back suddenly. “Is that too much? I don’t know where else to secure myself.”

“I uh,” he stumbled, most ladies just wrapped their hands around his chest, but somehow, that seemed even less innocent in respect to the other option. He cleared his throat once. “You’re fine.”

“Oh, ok,” she supplied, before finding her hold again and lacing her fingers in tight. He concentrated on getting Lonny back on the road and then, down just a ways, to the place where the trees thickened to keep Clemen’s Point from view. The smell of the lake and the campfire hit first and then the smell of unwashed bodies, followed by clean laundry. He called out to Bill on watch and watched him as he passed by, his big burly figure and small beady eyes examining the newcomer. 

Arthur drew Lonny to a halt once more, and swung out of the saddle. Evangeline’s head whipped around before he placed his hands hesitantly on her hips and guided her over the side. She whispered her thanks and he went about undoing her blindfold. When her eyes were free, they roamed around the camp taking everything in and he noticed a small smile touch her lips. He swelled with pride suddenly, that their way of life could manage to charm this woman with her warm, welcoming cabin and path of neat, winding wild flowers. All at once, Arthur felt lucky in his find. 

“Come on,” he muttered and tugged at her loosened fingers just a bit. “He’s this way.”

She nodded, almost as if she knew. He walked her through camp, and the both of them noted the turning heads and the curious eyes as they approached Dutch’s open tent. The white, pristine canvas was still pulled back on one side, and Molly seemed to be nowhere in sight as Dutch flipped through that well-worn copy of Evelyn’ Miller’s book he loved. 

“Dutch,” Arthur mumbled, knocking a knuckle lightly on the beam at the entrance. “I’ve got someone awful anxious to meet you.”

Dutch Van Der Linde glanced up from his book and surveyed the scene. The Southern sun illuminated the interior of the tent as it crested the top of a hill in the distance. The water glittered, just a ways away and the dock stood, looking picturesque in the distance, all loose boards and lapping water. 

“Well what do we have here?”

Evangeline rose to the occasion, she stepped in front of Arthur and stuck a hand out to Dutch, her shoulders pulled back and her chin tilted up. 

“Hello, I’m Evangeline Heron.”

“I’m Dutch Van Der Linde, but I trust you know that.”

She nodded sheepishly, and Arthur was momentarily taken aback in her change in demeanor with Dutch. She’d been mostly hard edges with him. 

The older, dark haired man glanced briefly at the younger for an explanation. 

“Miss Heron here has some big ideas about the gang, Dutch.” He supplied, unsure how much else he should say as he knew Dutch liked to make his own impressions of people. 

Dutch cast his dark, intelligent eyes back onto the woman and cocked his head. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she hummed. “Let’s skip the pleasantries.”

Dutch motioned her to a chair and she sat without hesitation as Dutch took his place across from her. Arthur hesitated, wondering whether to linger or leave. 

“I come with a proposition for you and your supporters,” she said slowly, and Arthur took note of her change in word choice. He could admit the term “supporters” was much prettier than “gang,” but she already had a way with pretty words. It seemed almost like a step too far, like she'd thought about the presentation too much.

“If I may, Mr. Van Der Line,” she began. 

“Just call me Dutch, Miss Heron,” Dutch interrupted and gave her small fingers a squeeze on the table. Arthur knew now that Dutch noticed how pretty she was and the rings all over her fingers with just that gesture.

“Sure, Dutch,” she allowed before launching in. “You’ll forgive my assumptions, I’m sure, but I’ve heard and researched quite a bit about your experiences these last couple of months. I believe we have some common ground to explore. In a past life of mine, as it were, I worked as a fairly popular journalist for several prominent city papers. I think I can supply the twist in the tail that you need to gain the popularity and renown that you deserve.”

Dutch tilted his head and Arthur could see the lust for opportunity and maybe the girl, too. He suppressed a slight shudder at how well he knew the man and his habits.

“I want to change the narrative,” she stated once again and Arthur’s eyes drifted back to her to catch that same excitement and passion from before. He wanted it like a man wanted water in a desert, he wanted to see the vision it still existed, that it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. 

“How’s that work?” Dutch asked. 

“The basis of my idea,” she started, her hands working while she talked to bring out her papers and pen. “Is based on the strategies of guerrilla warfare. You see, in Eastern countries, beyond Europe, they use a similar strategy to push out unwanted colonizers and invaders. Essentially, they use the topography that they’re more familiar with, and nearby locals who are endeared to their cause, to hide themselves and strike at the most opportune moments. It’s very much the same as the tactics used by George Washington himself against the British in the Revolutionary War.”

“And who would we use this strategy against?” Dutch asked, eyes slightly narrowed, Arthur could sense the danger and bristled at it. He didn’t want Dutch to feel any sort of competition, he wanted the comradery back, the old version of the gang back. 

“Well, the Pinkertons, obviously, and whatever other shitty, half-baked militia they can throw at you. Because, you see, they’ll never send the real military after you until you get bigger. If they lose American son’s lives, they have to win. And they know they can’t really win against you, yet. Even without my pretty words, the term outlaw is still a heavily endearing one in the minds of our people. It’s met with an almost sexy and dangerous allure. Mark my words, until the gang is bigger or you pose a larger problem, the real government won’t dirty it’s hands. It’s not an endearing enough cause for them to bring violence down on their own shores.”

“Can I ask why you want this? You seem well-off and skilled. What’s the point of offering this to us?”

“A chance at making a better world,” she said and Arthur felt the promises of the idea swelling inside of him again. Such an idea. “I’m tired of being at the mercy of men more foolish than me. I’m tired of the government bending to the will of these half-assed monopolies from people like Leviticus Cornwall. I’m tired of the big guy taking advantage of the little guy. I think now is the time for change. I think now is the time for a well-spoken leader to rise above and show the people what could really be. We’re fortunate enough to live in the land of opportunity, so why doesn’t it ever fucking feel like that, Dutch?” 

She paused, and Arthur could see his mentor was wrapped up in her pretty words just like he had been. He could see the stars in Dutch’s eyes again and some secret pleasure spread in Arthur’s chest at the thought of Dutch really being back. 

“You see, Dutch, I was just waiting and hoping to come across one of you. Because I know that you’re the answer. You can relieve all of us of this monopolistic, capitalist wet dream our country is actively turning into. With you all, we grab onto the America of our founding fathers and hold it fast. We can staunch the corruption. Destroy the unfettered ambition and bring it back. We can reinvent what this country was always meant to be.”

Arthur sighed and then stopped himself, knowing how loud his breathe came out. 

“What makes you think I’m the man for this?” Dutch asked, tentative, but already sold. Arthur could tell. 

She surged in her chair, excitement powering her forward and she grabbed Dutch’s big hand in her own.  
“I know you read Evelyn Miller. I know you’re something of an anarchist. And we can talk and evaluate those ideas as we go. You’re a powerful speaker, you have folks that would follow you till the ends of the earth. You’re a natural born leader, with the right voice, the right way with a crowd, and the right ideas. If we can put it down on paper, like it really is, and put into contrast how the Pinkertons have painted you, then we can endear the public to you. Because, let’s be honest, who do they have more in common with? You, or Leviticus Cornwall?”

Evangeline gave his hand a squeeze and continued, “It’s you. See, the government as it is, they strike fear into people, they convince them that they’re the ones who will be taken from when your gang robs a bank or when you cut off a slimy railroad. But if we do it right, they’re not. We can only steal from the rich. We can redistribute their wealth. We’re not taking from the middle class, we’re only taking from the person who has more than his share. We have to show the public that we’re on their side and the government isn’t. That’s all.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Dutch replied. 

Evangeline nodded. “It can be. With the right message. The right words. People are bored. But the ones who can read. They can know just what it is to feel they’re not alone in this world. That there are others who feel for their pain and are fighting for the better world they believe in. At that point, they’ll help to hide you guys from the Pinkertons. They’ll make it easy to navigate and elude any government agents. They’ll make those hired pigs easier to pick off, one by one. All you have to do is make the cost of the fight higher than the cost of what they’ve lost and then you’ll win. They’re businessmen more than government officials anymore. They know a loss when they see one.”

“Then I’ll win?” Dutch asked, as if he hadn’t thought of that before.

She nodded gravely. “As soon as it doesn’t make sense in the profit margin, they’ll stop. But by then, you’ll already have made enough change. You’ll have changed the political make-up and understanding of this country. You’ll have made a vote mean as much as the suffrage movement would have them all believe it does. You’ll have put the power back into the people’s hands.”

Dutch stared at her and Arthur found himself mildly perturbed at how enamored with Evangeline he looked. His irises were blown wide, just like they were when he’d first caught sight of that vibrant red head, Molly. His hands were clasped tightly around her small white ones, as if letting go would mean letting go of the wonderful web she’d spun. It deeply unsettled Arthur. He’d found her, after all.

“I think you’ve found a spot in our gang, Miss Heron,” Dutch favored her with that endearing, honeyed smile and she returned it with abandon. The sweet, Victorian beauty he’d seen the night before vanished in the wake of her cheeky, excited grin. 

“I have a boy,” she confided suddenly, as if almost ashamed. Dutch took a second glance at her rings and nodded. Jewelry explained child, child explained womanhood. Dutch rose in his seat and she followed. Dutch cast an eye over her figure and then looked to Arthur and winked. 

“He’s welcome here, of course,” Dutch explained shortly. “Need to get him soon? Arthur will take you back.”

“I’m certain he’ll be fine for the night. It’s late anyway, and I’d hate to impose on Arthur once more.”

Dutch nodded and his eyes lingered over her and then, as if trying to control himself, retreated to the far corner of his tent. “We’ll speak about the message tomorrow, or perhaps in a few days.”

“Sure” she replied without preamble and went to retreat outside, looking flushed and a little exhausted

Dutch stopped her with a word, “Oh, and Miss Heron, we’ll have a little party in your name for the night. I think this writes a new chapter for our little effort here.”

She nodded amicably, “Indeed it does.”

“Arthur? Would you be so kind as to go and introduce her to everyone? I think they’ll simply be buzzing with the possibilities behind a new member at this point. Go satiate their curiosity.”

“Sure, Dutch,” he promised, the words feeling oh-so familiar on his tongue.

He pulled back the tent flap in a gentlemanly manner for her and she exited before him without comment. In the back of his mind, he was pleased Dutch hadn’t questioned him about his own motives with the girl, or about her rings. She seemed so hesitant to hide them earlier, surely they must be of great importance to her. She didn’t shy away from much, that he could tell already. 

“Sure about leaving the boy up there tonight?” He asked her as she surveyed the rest of the camp. 

She nodded, ”See, I told you. You’d go and check in on him if things went sour.”

He pouted at that, almost against his own will. 

Evangeline reached up and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. He’s got those big dogs with him and he knows how to use a gun. He’ll be just fine. He's just enjoying his last night of solitude and silence.”

“I should say so,” Arthur agreed. “I can tell he’s not yours. No mother would leave her boy like that.”

“You trying to shame me into going back for him?”

“Maybe?” Arthur teased, despite himself. “I wouldn’t mind sleeping in that comfy bed again tonight instead of down here.”

Her own smirk drifted from her face and she suddenly looked terribly sympathetic for him. It that forced him to look away from her.

“Let’s go back tomorrow, together, yeah?” She asked, her hand still not leaving his shoulder. “We’ll make an extra long run of it? You can help me gather up the books and such, maybe even help us hide the place a little in case we need to go back?”

I’d like that, he almost muttered. But then he stopped himself and just nodded silently. 

At that moment, Dutch took it upon himself to escape his tent with Molly and climb up on his soap box for the camp since he hadn’t heard anything from Arthur announcing their new arrival. 

“Folks, gather round!” He called out into the slowly approaching twilight. “We’ve a new member on-board today. Miss Evangeline Heron will be joining us to help us change the narrative and alter how the people view us. She’s a well-known journalist and is sympathetic to our cause. So, crack open them beers and grab a handle of liquor, we’re going to let loose tonight in her honor.”

The gang cheered and Evangeline shrugged and smiled as their eyes fixed on her. Arthur felt himself soften at her humble shyness and then admonished himself.

“Go on,” he nudged her muscled shoulder with a knuckle. “Go introduce yourself to em’ all.”

She smiled her thanks back at him and surged forward into the crowd to line up for her own beer and to talk to some of the other members of the gang. He watched her small figure retreat, all confidence and stride, as if she’d waited a long time to join them. 

He heard a set of spurs wandering up to him, and had a sneaking suspicion it was Dutch form the cologne scented air that followed. 

“Well, I’ll say, Arthur. That weakness of yours for a pretty face sure is working out for us this time, isn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t start.”

“Hey, son,” Dutch grabbed his shoulder in the same place she’d just held. “I don’t blame you. She’s quite the little fire cracker. You never know just how much it matters to have a woman with an intellect until you meet one, eh?”

Arthur tisked and looked away, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s just a nice gal. She rescued me from a bunch of Murphees up in the North. Damn, Dutch. You should’ve seen her move through em'. She had 10 men on the ground before any one of them could sound the alarm. It was a sight.”

“Was it?” Dutch mused, both men watched her mingling just a ways away with Tilly and Susan. “Well, perhaps you’ve brought us more than a writer. It might do us well to have someone with skills like that in our corner.”

“I’m not sure she’s the stealing and beating type,” Arthur shrugged. 

“Sure she is,” Dutch promised. “She willingly walked into our camp with her fingers all bejweled and talked of stealing from the rich, as if that didn’t include her. She’s something else.”

“I’m not sure that’s how she works anymore, Dutch. She talks only in the past tense. Way I found her, she’s making a home out of some abandoned shack up near Butcher’s Creek. If she had money, I don’t think a woman like that would be willingly living like that.”

Dutch nodded his head from side to side. “I’m sure we’ll see over time. Trust me though. She’s got a fire in her. She likes violence, despite what your heart wants, Arthur.”

“My heart don’t want nothing to do with her,”

“Sure, son, sure. It doesn’t have to be your heart, after all,” Dutch chuckled and wandered away to grab his own beer from the crate and seat himself next to Uncle, his court jester. 

Arthur ventured into the party, grabbed himself a generous bottle of whiskey and seated himself in the place he knew would catch the most of the show. The only reason he’d managed to endear himself over the years to these folks was by watching how they interacted with others, as few of them offered him any of their own charm. 

He settled in and let his eyes lazily drift over the gang and their interactions with each other.

Uncle was seated with Charles, still trying to get some rise out of him. Sean was gauging his moment to saunter up and introduce himself, his eyes evaluating the newcomer with his traditional thirst. Javier had managed to grab his guitar from his tent and was sat around one of the fires, tuning it while John and Hosea kept him company. Micah sat across from the pair, his gaze surveying the group with cat-like intrigue. 

Arthur knew, Micah was looking for some weak link to probe. He wanted some unforeseen weakness to highlight, or maybe he was just trying to take a pulse of the woman from afar like the rest of them were. Susan lingered around Dutch’s tent, as if she were waiting for some sign that the fearless leader hoped to talk with her, and Molly was getting ready for bed, paying no attention to the goings-on of the gang itself. 

Tilly, Mary-Beth and Karen were all fluttering around the newcomer in close range. They led her over to a fire and broke out a bottle of rum that Karen had clearly been hoarding somewhere secret. They began chattering away happily, asking questions and pausing to hear Evangeline’s response before launching into some story of their own. Arthur knew though, most of them were simply too young to have the sort of experience Evangeline already had, except perhaps Ms. Grimshaw. He paused, wondering what Evangeline would think of being compared to Ms. Grimshaw, the old woman who didn’t even have enough pride to be a widow. Just a woman still lusting after an old love.

“What was it like working with a bunch of men?” Karen drawled. Everyone knew Karen wanted the same, she wanted to work beside the outlaws of the group, but hadn’t been given much of a chance.

“It wasn’t so bad. Then again, they never knew I was a woman. I was only Edward S. Stark from Colorado with the most wonderful ideas. My colleagues only knew I had interesting taste in messengers and women.”

“Women?” Mary Beth tilted her head. 

Evangeline chuckled, “Sure, if you’re playing a man you might as well be a Casanova?”

“I wish I’d thought of that,” Tilly scoffed. 

“Take it. It’s hardly an old idea. Whatever profession you can break into without being seen, do it. Take what you want, right?”

“You sound like one of the boys,” Mary Beth laughed. 

“Well sure, you’re living with a gang of outlaws. I should hope you pick up on their tenacity.”

“Sure girls, pick up on a little bit of my tenacity, why don’t ya?” Sean echoed 

Arthur rolled his eyes from afar, the little bastard sure did think the world of himself.

“Sean MacGuire, at your service.”

“Charmed,” Evangeline smirked. 

“Can I ask you something personal, girly?”

“Sure,” Evangeline squinted at the skinny Irishman, a sly smile touching her lips.

“You ever known an Irishman?”

She grinned, “Oh sure, I’ve known plenty. They haven’t much liked me, being sworn enemies and all.”

“Sworn enemies?” Sean balked.

“I’m Italian,” she informed him and he gaped for a moment. 

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, I won’t hold it against you.”

“You’re too kind,’ Evangeline replied. She punched his shoulder playfully and turned back to the girls without much preamble. 

In fact, Evangeline handled her introductions to the various gang members, even the prickly Bill and Micah with finesse. Her smile never budged, and those clever eyes studied without remorse but in a way that wasn’t likely caught by her subjects. Arthur wondered, as he observed the scenes she passed through, whether or not most journalists were so analytical and calm. He wondered if they all knew the right things to say and knew how to see through you like glass. Perhaps he was seeing things that weren't there and assigning more credit than what was due. 

When the guitar finally stopped strumming and everyone began tucking in for bed, including Arthur himself, he glimpsed her again. She was sprawled on her bedroll, staring wide eyed at the stars above. With a flash of movement that he’d only glimpsed when she was taking down those Murphees with such precision, she stood to her feet and wandered into the forest. 

He wasn’t sure why, perhaps he feared the element of surprise she might use to cut them down, one by one, like that night, but he followed her into the woods. He wound through the dark, keeping his footsteps quite and wondering for some time. Finally, some distance away, he found her sitting on a boulder with her head in her hands and her eyes on the water beyond. A stick crackled under his boot and she turned slowly, almost methodically.  
With nothing else to do, he broke the silence. “You’re quite the charmer.”

“And you’re quite the wall flower.”

“I ain't no flower.”

“Sure you are. Pretty thing like you. Just not a terribly delicate one.” 

“I’m not delicate?” 

She smirked, “You’re like one of those hearty desert flowers that you have to pour chemicals on to kill.”

“So, I’m a weed,” he supplied. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

He smirked and she patted the rock next to her. He pressed forward since he had no choice in the matter since he’d followed her through the trees. He had to keep her company, now that he’d sought it out. 

“Whatcha doing out here. I thought you’d be exhausted after all that.”

“I am,” she nodded. “More than you know. I don’t much like being in big groups. I can handle it, but the silence is where I find peace.”

“I can leave you to it.”

“It’s alright,” she patted his knee. “I know you can be quiet. Besides, you don’t suck the energy away from an area.”

“Do they?”

“Do you have to ask me that?”

He shrugged his agreement. 

They sat like that for some time, in a comfortable silence that hugged around them like a blanket. He snuck a glance at her and caught the sad cast of her profile, her bow-tie mouth turned down at the corners, her brows all in a furrow. 

“Something on your mind?” He finally asked. 

She hummed, and looked at him like she was shocked to see him still there. A slow smile spread over her lips. 

“You’re something else, you know that?”

“You trying to flatter me?” He teased, forgetting that he was trying to dive under that façade she put up so quickly. She laughed at his joke and looked out to the water again. 

“I’m not even going to honor that remark with an answer.” She paused and cast a concerned glance at him for a moment. 

He knew that, if you wanted someone to talk, the best thing to do was to give them nothing else to react to. Few realized how often a silence could prompt an answer.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be showing any hesitation after you brought me here. But I,” she paused and puzzled it a moment, her mouth forming around the words in something like a test. “I just hope it works.”

He had the urge to offer another quip, but he restrained himself. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t bother with kind words, but she seemed so full of possibility. For so long, his life had been spent destroying just that: possibility and opportunity. He couldn’t bring himself to do it here and now. He wanted to see her work, wanted to see her swell with that passion again that he’d glimpsed before. He wanted her to be the savior to them all that Dutch couldn’t be anymore and Arthur never could have been. 

“I hope it works, too, Evangeline,” he finally supplied. He reached out a hand to grasp her shoulder but hesitated. She glanced at his hand in the air and he tried to draw it back, but she caught it, brought it down by her side and squeezed it before letting him go. 

“Let’s head back, yeah?” She asked and got up as if the matter weren’t up for further discussion and retreated away. He followed after her and retired without a word. But when he’d finally closed his tent flap he pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to think about what it meant if she already had doubts, because he knew this was their last shot to get it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schedule change: I'll likely be updating on Tuesdays rather than Mondays. This is simply because I'm like, a worn out, wet saggy sock on Mondays and I can't function very well.


	4. Equal Footing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be, since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be.”  
> ― Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I haven't updated this for some time. But, with the prime mixture of the holidays, a stressful election, work sucking my soul out through my nose and just a whole lot of other shit, I didn't really have time to spare. 
> 
> However, I have returned and I'm here to deliver this story on a semi-regular basis if I can keep up. I'll post once today in the hopes of establishing a more regular schedule in the future on some day of the week. Until then, I sincerely hope you're enjoying it and I'd love to hear any comments you have on the work. Also, I'm trying something new with the summary. Lemme know what you think.
> 
> Sorry if I miss some obvious edits and I hope your holidays are filled with as much cheer as possible for our time.

Together, with Evangeline on a borrowed horse, and with a newly furnished gun that looked too big in her hands, they set off to go back for the boy. They rode in silence and Arthur took his time appreciating it. Nothing quite like a silent ride with someone else, just hoof beats and company. 

They made good time again and found themselves back up at the cabin, after a few rest stops, near the evening. Arthur eyed the bed he’d managed to get such a good sleep on with envy. He’d have to remember this little cubby of theirs. Hopefully nothing else would move into it in her absence. She dismounted and brought the horse into the already cramped shack where her own big horse still remained. Arthur turned back to her, looking for direction on how to help her pack up. 

“Don’t worry about it, Arthur. You can just take it easy. We don’t have much to pack.”

He fumbled, wanting to help but without anything to do he simply took his seat at their kitchen table, folded his hands across the splintery wood and watched his fingers as the boy and her shoved all of their books into those little leather duffels. 

“You’ll have to pick. You can’t fit them all,” Evangeline told the boy and Arthur watched him pout. 

“Nonsense,” Arthur interjected. Their heads snapped up again, as if they’d just realized he was there. “I’ve got plenty of room in my satchel. We can take all your things down with us.”

Ben offered him a rare smile and brought an intimidating stack over to Arthur to find a place for. Finally having something to do, he retreated out to Lonny and started filling the extra cargo space with the boy’s books. He made a mental note that he’d have to get the two of them a bigger bag before the camp moved again, he’d carry it himself if there wasn't room on the wagons.

As evening fell, she emptied their little pantry out and seasoned a bit of cured meat, she pulled out some cheese and bread. Evangeline packed away their excess butter and dried foods in the little space they had left on the spare horse they’d borrowed. They feasted and Arthur got to know little Ben. 

Ben spoke mostly of his favorite books and the lessons Evangeline was giving him in mathematics and history. 

“She knows so much about history.”

“Is that right?” Arthur smiled and glanced at Evangeline. She shrugged. 

She sent the boy to bed after his super, it shocked Arthur to see the boy just climb in and pop open his book in front of those little stacks of candles on their bedside. Arthur was almost sad that they weren’t going to bring those dripping masses of wax and wicks along with them. They made the space so cozy and welcoming, though he supposed they had become a part of the house at this point. You couldn't pull them apart, it just wouldn't feel right.

“Want a spot of whiskey? I have some left here and I intend to finish it before we set off.”

He nodded his agreement and they wandered into the front yard with the little stone path and the wildflowers. 

“If I may, how’d you come by him if he’s not yours?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I do. I don’t think a mother would treat the boy like that.”

She studied him with curiosity for a moment and then shrugged. 

“I found his mother dying on the side of the road when he was about two or three. She didn’t have any family. She’d had him out of wedlock, so she was on her own, thought she could head out west and find a place for herself. I suppose she did in some ways.”

“So, you just took him in?”

“Sure,” Evangeline nodded. “I know what orphans are treated like in these parts. Hell, I know how non-orphans area treated in these parts by their biological parents. I couldn’t just leave the boy to that fate.”

Arthur hummed his agreement. 

She started again. “I never wanted children. I had a bad childhood and I figured I was likely only going to repeat the same mistakes. And I must say, everyday that I struggle through and I don’t devolve into those people is a small victory. But, I fancy the trick is that I never think of him as my son. He’s just a boy, my friend.”

“I never thought of it like that, you know, raising kids when you ain’t been parented so well yourself. ‘Spose a bad parent begets another bad parent.”

“Most don’t think like that. The attraction of procreating for some is simply undeniable.”

“What, you telling me that you don’t partake in such sin?”

She laughed heartily and he smirked at the sound. She was so little for having such a big laugh.

“Of course, I do! Just nothing comes of it in that way. My body couldn’t, I don’t think, anyway.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Doctor told me it wasn’t much use, and I’m happier for it.”

“So, how does being with the boy work if you don’t bother to parent him?”

“Sounds like you’re judging me.”

He laughed a little and shrugged. “That ain’t it. It’s just, aren’t you worried about how he’ll turn out?”

“Well, no actually. He’s a smart boy. Most people end up raising themselves anyway. I did, I have a suspicion that you did. It’s not like I don’t share right and wrong with him. He’s smart. It’d be impossible for him to miss it.”

“I don’t know. I raised myself but I’m not sure I ended up so good.”

“Really? Susan told me Hosea and Dutch raised you.”

“Well, some. They raised John, too. I don’t know if you met him already or not, but he’s not exactly a glowing example of how folks should turn out.”

“I imagine that was Dutch’s doing.”

Arthur bristled and then he found himself chuckling a little again. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” she replied. “Look, I’m not a mother. And I won’t be forced to be one. Ben knows how to hunt for himself. Knows how to read and write, he can do arithmetic and, if I have my way, he’ll be able to speak two languages by the time he’s grown. Growing up with me, it’s no surprise that he won’t have much of a moral compass. I know plenty of folks are out there who are more moral and forgiving than I.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t attacking you or anything. I just wanted to know how it all worked. He’s a smart boy, and from what I can tell, he’s a good boy, too.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see how much of a good boy he is after he spends a couple of months with a gang of outlaws.”

“Oh, that.” 

“Oh, that,” She laughed and Arthur felt something of a pang. He was bothering to raise Jack more than she was Ben. Little Jack was going to turn out fine if it was the last thing Arthur did. “I’m not frowning at most of the influences around the camp. But Micah, Bill, hell, even Sean all leave much to desire for figures to look up to.”

“I can’t argue with you there.”

“What about you, Arthur, you ever been particularly fond of the family way of life?”

“Still in a gang, aren’t I?”

Evangeline studied him, the candles snuffed out in the cabin as the boy went to sleep and left both to adjust their eyes to only the light of the moon. She passed him the bottle of whiskey blindly and he took a sip. She didn’t continue so he cleared his throat and nodded, supposing that it was, indeed, his turn to share.

“I got a girl in a family way when I was younger. Didn’t work out too well. I had a fiancé at one point, too.” He paused, wondering why he’d bother to let any of that information out. He boiled it down to her journalistic background and just her being good at catching people off guard for information. He’d be more careful in the future. 

“So, where’s the child bearing the Morgan name? You’re not too old, so the kid can’t be too old either.”

“He’s in the ground already.”

There was silence that followed and she took the whiskey back from him. He heard the liquid slush around as she took another sip.

“I’d tell you I’m sorry to hear it. But I think you know it’s a worthless word. Especially in that regard.”

He grunted. 

“I um,” she paused, taking several more sips. He wondered briefly just how much room her small body had for that liquor. “I lost my chance at a partner a long time ago, too. I like to tell myself that some folks are just better off alone, so that’s why it doesn’t work out for them.”

For the first time, he pondered what she’d meant when she’d told him some of the rings on her fingers were gifts. Perhaps they were little pieces bought with love at the start of a life together.  
“I haven’t much pursued it since. It’s hard to find reasonable people in this world,” she supplied and he got the sense that she was trying to relate to him. It made him loosen once more, this gesture to demonstrate shared pain and shared footing. 

“You’re still young,” he finally replied. “You might find someone, yet.”

“I’m afraid I spend more time scaring away the men I find drifting too near my little homestead. Never know about people’s intentions.”

“You let me in.” 

“Germans said you were a good man. I trust their judgement.”

Arthur remembered then, her quick movements and quite killings from just a few nights ago. “You suggesting you scare men off like you scared them Murphees? Then, no, I don’t imagine that attracts many suitors.”

She chuckled and handed the whiskey bottle back to him, it felt considerably lighter and he worried a little that he’d have to help her back inside if she got too sloshed. 

“No, it’s not. But, I’m not too interested in suitors. Flowery language and heartfelt declarations of true love simply fall flat on my ears at my age.”

“Your age,” Arthur scoffed. “Tell me, how is it you learned to do all that.”

“Learned to do all what?”

“The way you killed them Murphees. Charles is a native, and even he’s not that quite in the dark. I was half afraid and out of my mind when I saw you. Figured you were some unnatural being.”

“You flatter,” Evangeline replied and he noted the slight slur in her words. She seemed to hesitate then. “I just picked it up along the way, I guess.”

Arthur gave her a look that let her know he didn’t really believe that. She grabbed for the whiskey bottle but he held it away from her.

“I don’t want to have to carry you inside. You might want to cool down on it.”

She chuckled and swayed a little before turning. For a moment, he almost felt bad that he’d brought their little conversation to an end. He hadn’t been so honest with anyone in a long time, and he felt a strange weight lift. He didn’t know why, as it would hurt him if she used the information in whatever upcoming article she was going to publish. After all, what if this had just been an interview, a way to get a few pieces of information that would help her humanize the gang to the public? He crossed the distance between them in a few easy strides and grabbed her arm and spun her around a little harder than he might’ve if he weren’t feeling the whiskey himself. 

“You getting rough with me?” She asked, but there was a dark quality to her voice that made him draw his hand back abruptly. Her voice had gone all husky and he didn’t know quite how she was meaning to taunt him. He’d have to think on that later. 

“Sorry, I’m feeling a bit loose from the whiskey, too,” he admitted and he watched her in the moonlight a moment, her face turned up toward him. He took a step back, just realizing how close he’d gotten to her. “You won’t mention any of that, right?”

“To whom?” She asked, looking thoroughly offended, and he already felt a fool. 

“Well, in your writing. On all of us.”

“Oh,” she looked a little hurt and he felt real dumb. She reached a tentative hand up to him and patted his shoulder in a way that told him she didn’t come into close contact with many people. “No, Arthur, I’d never tell a soul what you told me. I hope you can learn to trust me, even if just a little.”

He grunted his approval, for he was determined that silence was better now. He didn’t want his words to do any more damage. Though, he could hardly believe he cared. 

As she led him inside, he pondered that. Why bother telling her anything? Why bother giving a shit what she thought of him? 

The answer came unbidden as he rolled himself onto the far more comfortable mattress than those that he had in hotel rooms. It was because that tenacious fire in her brought something back to him, something he hadn’t realized he’d lost. She might be the thing to make all this work as smoothly as it once did when he was just a kid and they were just running simple jobs. It might be the way to bring Dutch back to himself. It might be the way to prove that his loyalty hadn’t been misplaced as Hosea was starting to convince him it was. 

That’s why she already meant so much. She might be his last chance at the life he gave everything up for.


	5. Publishing Headway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A piece is published under a pseudonym.
> 
> “The newspapers! Sir, they are the most villainous — licentious — abominable — infernal — Not that I ever read them — no — I make it a rule never to look into a newspaper.”  
> ― Richard Brinsley Sheridan, The Critic

The headline read “You Wouldn’t Kill Robin Hood, Would You?” Arthur found it in town around two weeks after she’d joined the camp. Evangeline kept mostly to herself in that time. She paced a lot, pen in mouth, flexing her fingers and shaking her hands out all the time. That’s when she was in camp, which wasn’t often. Seemed she’d pitch in on little Jack’s lessons from time to time, then take Ben out with her and return days later with maybe a single deer for the camp. She’d always have Javier or Sean dress it for her, which seemed funny to Arthur as she didn’t seem one to shy away from getting her hands dirty. She didn’t bother to announce her comings and goings, she just went about her days however she cared to. 

At first, Arthur wasn’t so sure about it. He was still worried that, to mix a few metaphors, she was just a snake lurking in the grass that intended to smoke them all out and reveal them in their weakest state. But time passed easy enough, and finding her first article, though she hadn’t told anyone about it, made him ease even more. She was already doing her part. 

He bought the paper from the boy and took it into the saloon to enjoy it separately before he bothered to take it back and show the others. His eyes traced over her words on the third page of the flimsy, gauzy feeling paper and he felt a swell of pride. He’d known, those pretty words of hers would be even prettier on paper. 

Prose that posed Dutch's argument so succinctly echoed through the work.

“Is America really going to give up on its dreams?”

“Should we all roll over and accept that what the government wants is actually what we want?”

“Certainly, if we can allow bigger crooks, that steal from everyday folk, to continue on their merry way, than a gang that stands for freedom and defending the little guy can hardly be the true villain.”

“We’re still building our empire. Let’s make sure we build it our way.”

Arthur let out a low whistle and sat back, somewhat pleased with himself. The bartender came up to his quite table and set the mug of light beer down. He leaned over Arthur’s shoulder and nodded. 

“You know, I remember when that man first started getting his pieces in the paper. Eddie Stark sure does have a way with words. He never says something stupid.”

“You think so? Even with this business about the Van Der Lindes?” Arthur tested the waters. 

“You know. That’s a good question. When men came riding through town, looking for those fools, I was sure they’d burn this place to the ground. But, I read that piece there from Eddie, and I think he might be on to something. Why should folk like the Braithwaites get to take everything? They have a piece of the moonshine, hell, even the travelers tax from the Lemonye Raiders. They have people in Saint Denis, doing their bidding. All seems like a bit too much don’t it? Maybe we’re all focusing on the wrong people? Somethings real appealing about a gang of thieves that just does honest thieving from those who took too much.”

“Wow, Jim,” the sheriff muttered as he walked in the doors of the saloon. “I had no idea you had so many thoughts on the matter.”

“Oh, surely I don’t,” Jim provided and retreated back to the bar back without another word. It made Arthur bristle. 

The sheriff approached Arthur casually and glanced at the paper. 

“Reading that shit?”

Arthur shrugged. 

“Thoughts on it?”

“I don’t have many thoughts, to be honest,” he replied levelly. It would be lying to say Arthur didn’t occasionally revel in how stupid people thought he was. It managed to leave a few easy openings in conversations he didn't want to have. 

“That’s good,” the sheriff observed. “If you’re not too caught up in the little revolution the paper is trying to drum up, maybe you can come and grab a few of those bounty posters out of my office again.”

“Why, I’d be delighted,” Arthur supplied and cast his eyes back down to the paper and took up his beer, signaling the end of the interaction. 

The sheriff took the hint and left, but Arthur took him up on his offer before leaving Valentine and heading back to Clemen’s Point, a few extra copies of the paper in-tow. 

***

Upon his arrival, he visited Dutch’s tent first and offered him one of the papers, neatly folded in his satchel. He was fixing to keep one of them in his trunk. He felt, in a way, that this was his accomplishment too, since he’d found her and brought her into the fold. 

“Looks like our little writer has something out.”

“She tell you about this?” Dutch asked quickly, worry marring his features. 

“Not at all,” Arthur replied, knowing that worry would soon be gone. 

The smile Arthur knew so well, knew from the old Dutch, made its appearance quickly. 

“Well, Arthur, I think I’ve told you this before. But she’s something else.”

Arthur nodded, “Sure is.”

Hosea wandered up to the tent, “What are you two smiling about?”

Arthur didn’t bother to hide his good feelings as he passed the paper from Dutch to Hosea. The trio stood in the grand tent, with the big bed and the silent gramophone, reading the words of this charming Eddie Stark. 

“Well, this Eddie Stark sure is a smart fella,” Hosea laughed, the lines around his eyes crinkling with relief. 

Arthur locked eyes with the older man and they shared a smile. The plan might just work. 

“This is real fine,” Dutch muttered, and Arthur could tell he was about to start being pragmatic. “But what do the people think of it?”

“Well, to start, it’s only her first piece on the matter, so it won’t move mountains yet. But, I was speaking with the bartender and sheriff in Valentine, where I found the paper, and they were both talking about big changes to come from it.”

Arthur chose to leave out the sheriff’s hesitation, as he didn’t much care for it and he wanted desperately for Dutch to like the article. To agree that little Evangeline and Ben were worth the feed, as it were. 

“Speak of the devil,” Hosea muttered and peeked out the open side of Dutch’s tent at Evangeline approaching on her big cob with a dog in tow. 

“I bring gifts, Pearson,” she called out and waved him over. 

Pearson came at her call to help heave what looked to be a couple of bags of grain back over to his wagon. Dutch stood and led the way out of the tent with Arthur and Hosea following behind. She pointed amicably to Sean as she dismounted and gathered her things from her saddle. 

“You said you wouldn’t hold my heritage against me?” 

“I said it,” Sean murmured, his eyes charting the approach of the gang leaders. 

“Well, you’ll have to make good on it tonight cause we’re eating like the folks where I come from do.”

She laughed and turned to join Pearson but hesitated as she caught sight of the approaching trio. She looked a little taken aback and rested a hand on her big dog, the one she called Caraxes. He knew her protests about the boy not meaning much to her didn’t count, as she always left the biggest of the pair with him when she left camp. 

“Evening,” she called out though Arthur could sense her tension. 

“Well, well,” Dutch muttered and the way his voice came out sounded a little threatening, even to Arthur. “Seems you went and got something published.”

“I did,” she said and drew her shoulders back, her hand still resting on the dog’s head, it came up to her hip after all. 

“It’s the best thing I’ve read in sometime,” he proclaimed and did something entirely uncharacteristic. Dutch lent down and gave her a hug, which she gingerly returned until he pulled back and took her hands in his. “Arthur picked it up in town, said folks are already liking the sound of what you have to say. It’s already working.”

A grin split her face and Arthur glimpsed those perfect, white teeth again. She nodded enthusiastically and then shrugged, as if reminding herself to be humble. 

“We should celebrate again tonight,” Dutch suggested. 

“Sure, Dutch,” She replied, and Arthur could tell their leader liked those words on her lips better than on Hosea’s or his own. 

“Arthur, you’ve got a few more of those to pass around?”

He smiled despite himself. “Sure do.”

“Well go on, son, best share this victory with everyone!”

Dutch turned to the whole gang, and they met his gaze, as they’d already been watching the whole scene, including Micah from afar. Arthur could smell trouble coming from him, but he couldn’t bother to address the matter at this point. It seemed hardly to matter anyway with things going so well. 

“Miss Heron has published an article and it has been received with open arms in the community. This is the first step to our comeback. To making the big picture a reality! We’re gonna have a little party in honor of this success tonight, especially since she’s brought us something to eat.”

Dutch tried to pull her hand up straight into the air with his, but ended up making her stand on her tippy toes. He laughed a little and looked down at her fondly. 

“It’s pasta!” she proclaimed and tried to pull herself away to help Pearson. 

With that, Dutch allowed her to retreat to Pearson’s wagon and instruct the man on how to cook the new ingredient she’d brought to camp. They filled several pots and started boiling water. 

“Don’t worry, Pearson, I have a plan. I’m about to make your whole life a lot easier.”

“Oh?” He questioned. 

“Just you wait and see how much food this makes. We could feed an army,” she laughed pleasantly and started fishing out spices and a good chunk of ground meat from her satchel.

Arthur watched from afar, but her eye caught his and he approached. 

“You’ve quite the little set up going here.”

“I was prepared. I knew it was coming out today.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She paused at that briefly before she continued pulling the leaves from the bundle of fresh oregano in her hands. 

“Let’s just say, from my work before, I know a little something about dealing with clients. It’s always better to let them see the reaction, rather than nitpick the product before it hits the press.”

“Aw, I see.”

“What?” she smirked as the started pouring the fresh herbs straight into the slowly boiling pot of water. 

“Well, I don’t know. I didn’t know we were a client,” he shrugged. 

Evangeline cast a glance at him. “You’re not. You’re not paying me, so you can’t possibly be.”

He chuckled, muttered his awkward congratulations and then retreated back to his spot in camp where he could observe with ease. Though he noticed the other large bags she’d brought back with her and he read the label “rice,” surrounded by what he could best describe as Eastern symbols.

As he strolled through camp, collecting his own beer, he found Hosea drawing him over. He went to him without hesitation and took his seat beside him. 

“Quite the little find on your part.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you about that? She found me.” 

Hosea shot him a glance. 

“Yeah, she saved me from the Murphee brood, cut about 10 of ‘em down without them hearing anything. Untied me, fed me, and gave me a place to sleep before she told me about her aspirations in regard to the gang.”

“Interesting,” Hosea started. “I like to think I’m a good judge of character, as you know, and I think she’s too smart to be hanging around with a gang like ours.”

“I know. That’s just the thing.”

“What?” Hosea prompted. 

“Why’s she here?”

“I’d take her at her word, Arthur. She seems to think that we’re all the passage to some greater, better version of this country. I just worry she’s putting too much hope in us. Too much on our shoulders.”

“I don’t know, Hosea. You read what she wrote. She sure can sway the public. With the name she’s built and what she’s saying on our behalf. I wouldn’t be shocked if we at least get a little more time from her efforts.”

“Time for what?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe the time that Dutch is always asking for anymore?”

“He needs more time than anyone can give.”

Arthur hummed and hung his head. He felt the rumbling pang of hunger in his belly as the spicy, buttery scent of the food drifted through the air. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not, Arthur?” Hosea asked. “I’m just saying, I see how you are already, and I want you to be careful. I don’t want you to believe what her and Dutch are peddling before they make any real headway.”

“Headway?”

“Just, see what they can manage before you get all starry-eyed about the two of them.”

“I’m not starry-eyed,” he snapped. 

“Sure, son.” He replied. “Just don’t get that way.”

After Hosea had thoroughly managed to sour Arthur’s mood, he retreated to his tent to fold and save the little piece of paper with the carefully sliced out article. He placed it in his trunk and buckled it in before exiting and finding Micah lurking around the perimeters as the others lined up for the now finished meal. 

“Watcha doing, pal?”

Micah glanced at Arthur and then back to the line. 

“Just taking stock.”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Nothin’ to worry about, cowboy. Just making sure your new little friend is the real deal.”

“Look, I know you can’t fathom not being the favorite. But that doesn’t mean she’s unseatin’ you. I doubt she’ll do any jobs.”

“No, I don’t’ think she’ll do much for us here at camp,” Micah observed.

That was precisely where Arthur's goodwill ended, he stalked away and lined up for his own serving of this mysterious cuisine she was so excited to share. Together, her and Pearson shoveled hot, ”pasta” into the tin bowls the camp was accustomed to having just stew in. They topped it with a red tomato sauce that was filled with chunks of meat. No one seemed to dislike the meal as they ate quickly, enjoying sucking the noodles up fast between their teeth. 

Tilly, Karen and Mary-Beth had particular fun with them. They slurped up their portions and then laughing about how silly they looked doing it. Arthur watched Evangeline as little as possible so he wouldn’t seem to be watching the scene playout too obviously. 

He watched her rub elbows and talk with Dutch, and she produced a new book she picked up for him in town. It was a piece of fiction, but one she thought he’d rather like. He retreated to his tent to place it reverently on his bedside table, and he drew Molly out with him to interact with Evangeline. It seemed she managed to charm the volatile red head just as easily as she did everyone else. 

Satisfied with the interactions of the night and feeling sleepy and full, Arthur retired early to his tent, as was his usual custom with these parties. Though he didn’t mind celebrating, it seemed to him these were getting to be too close together. He smiled at the thought of Uncle running out of booze and being grumpy about the low stock in camp because, for once, he wasn’t the only one drinking it dry. He fell asleep like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isnt' a terribly long or exciting chapter, but he gang gets to try Italian food, which I think is something. 
> 
> Fun historical fact for you: Italian food didn't become a common dish in the United States outside of those who were from the country until the 1920s. To discover the wonders of pasta, garlic bread and the cannoli, you'd have to be introduced.


	6. Verified Intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loyalty is proven. 
> 
> “How many of our daydreams would darken into nightmares  
> if there seemed any danger of their coming true!”  
> ― Logan Pearsall Smith

When he woke the next morning, there was a clear atmosphere in the camp. It read: Hangover. 

Arthur found himself content by the morning fire with no one around to bother him and just a cup of coffee to get his day started. He hadn’t drunk himself stupid, he’d found himself grow sleepy and comfortable with all of that warm pasta filling his belly. Above all, he prided his ability to take pleasure in the simple things, like avoiding a hangover and partaking in the silence the produce in others. 

Dutch approached from inside his tent, yawning but smiling. 

“You missed so much last night. Evangeline danced with Sean. Then she danced with me and Javier. It was a hoot. She’s a little pistol.”

Arthur grunted, a spot of mild unhappiness tinged his feeling about Dutch’s words. Who cares who she danced with? Why burden him with this information? 

“I’m not gonna lie, Arthur. I’d like to put her to the test. Just a bit more.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I want her to do a bit of work for us. We’ve got mouths to feed.”

“Well, she did the feeding last night.” 

Dutch faltered and looked displeased in a way Arthur hadn’t felt directed at him before.

“I suppose so, but the point still stands. It’s all well and good that she’s reframing our image with the public, but she’s gotta show that she can really be a part of the gang.”

“You’re just trying to vex me,” Arthur proclaimed, swishing the grounds around at the bottom of his coffee cup. 

“No, Arthur, I’m not. She needs to have skin in the game. She can’t just use that pen and think it’s enough.”

“Why can’t it be enough?”

Dutch looked taken aback, and Arthur realized this was the first time he hadn’t just taken Dutch’s opinion as gospel. At least, to his face. 

“Because, Arthur, if she’s a spy those pretty words don’t mean shit. We need her to be in the thick of it. Declaring war like she so wants to.”

“Fine,” Arthur shrugged, but he wasn’t happy about it and he wanted Dutch to know that. 

When he finally looked up from his coffee cup he found Dutch staring at him with suspicion in a way that old Dutch never would have done to anyone in the gang. 

It was gone fast enough though, and Dutch started ordering him to go find her and tell her to come see him. 

“She’ll think you want a say in the next piece she writes,” Arthur interjected.

Dutch paused, “And I do, but this meeting will be about something else.”

“Ok,” Arthur replied, and Dutch departed without much more fanfare. Arthur glanced around the camp to see who else had caught the interaction, hoping Micah wasn’t one of them. Instead he found Hosea’s sad eyes on him. Hosea shrugged and retreated back into his tent. 

He’d heard Hosea and Abigail flirting sometime ago. Wondered if he should provide Hosea with the same words the older man had burdened him with. “Don’t get too starry-eyed on her.” Then again, Arthur didn’t want from Evangeline what Hosea might want with Abagail. 

He rose from his seat, tamped down his frustrations and reminded himself that he should never lash out at Hosea, a man he loved more than he could have ever loved anyone he had been related to. 

Arthur looked to Abagail, rising slowly and herding the two boys, as she now spent as much of her time with Jack in Ben's company. She was glancing at Hosea’s tent and suddenly Arthur found himself reconsidering. What if Hosea got another chance after Bessie? What if he found something in Abagail that John in all his thick-skulled antics couldn’t? What if the two of them could live happily with little Jack raised right?

A sudden sorrow settled in Arthur's chest as he approached Ben and Jack, both looking to Abagail for instruction. Hosea would never leave the gang, he loved it too well. He couldn’t find a happiness beyond this, even with that young, bushy-tailed thing by his side and a boy to call his own. 

The mission to get Evangeline accepted and apart of the gang seemed all the more dire now. It was about saving everyone, including Hosea and Abagail’s tentative attraction. He wandered up to Ben and looked down on the kid before scratching the big dog, Vhaegar’s, ears with affection. 

“Seen your-” he was about to say mother or aunt maybe before he stopped himself. Unsure what the boy would call her. “Sorry, you seen Evangeline around?”

“She’s out swimming.”

Arthur looked to the lake just beyond the camp and saw nothing. 

“Where?”

“Walk through the trees along the shoreline. You won’t find her far from here.”

“Thanks.” Arthur stopped, “You need anything, Ben? Got all your books and such?”

Ben smiled at him. “I do, but Jack and I are hoping to go fishing again. Would you happen to have another pole?”

“I don’t at the moment, but I’ll find you one, alright?”

“You don’t have to,” Ben stated shyly, as if suddenly realizing who he was asking favors of. 

“Don’t think anything of it,” Arthur replied before stomping off through the trees. 

He wandered for some time before he finally caught sight of the unique, carved leather satchel Evangeline called her own. He approached cautiously and found her clothes in a neat pile near her bag, next to a half-eaten can of pears. He paused wondering if she was naked out in the water and counting on her privacy. He glimpsed the waterline and found her arms pulling rapidly at the water, her head coming up for a breath momentarily before sinking back in. She drew near to the shore and then pulled upright. 

Arthur turned in a flash, terrified that he caught her entirely off-guard. 

“Arthur,” he heard her call out from the shoreline “Turnaround, it’s fine.”

When he turned, it was not fine. Her legs were entirely bare and her upper arms as well. Her usually modest, dark clothing wasn’t there to protect him from the full form of her body, now. His eyes raked over her and he looked to the ground. 

“What a gentleman,” she laughed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“You’re not decent,” he replied quickly. 

“Sure, I am,” she answered. “I’m clothed. You haven’t seen a woman before Arthur? I know that’s not true unless you like it best in the dark like some sort of clergyman.”

She laughed at her own joke and he turned to find her bent over and running thick amounts of pomade through her hair. 

“What are you doing?”

“Keeps the curls well-formed. Prevents frizz.” She explained off-handedly.

He couldn’t help it, he took the measure of her. She was dressed in a short, light-weight chemise that cut of at her hips and a set of bloomers that she’d hacked off at the thigh. Unwillingly, his eyes roamed up the length of her muscular legs. He’d never seen a woman’s legs look so muscle-bound as hers. Her bare arms, too, looked toned and raw from the sun. 

“What are you doing out here,” he finally managed to get out. 

“Oh,” She murmured as she scrunched a white sheet in her hair, the curls sprang up tighter with every squeeze. “It’s a good way to stay in shape. Keeps me capable, as it were. Clears my head. All that.”

He grunted his acknowledgement and took a seat on a nearby boulder large enough for two. She even picked up the unfinished can of peaches and handed it to him for his breakfast. 

“You have a tattoo,” he observed and then stopped himself, for that meant he was watching the small shape of her move in the sunlight. The muscles flexing and moving beneath her pale skin. Sun speckled shoulders gave way to lightly tanned arms that looked well-shaped and dangerous in a way he hadn’t seen in a woman before. The little line of ink was sparse and drew out the first lines of a couple of towers like you might see depicted in some fantasy story about knights and queens. 

He could see the artist’s fine line, precise and careful. But it was odd, in his mind, the sketch looked only half done, a mere outline of what it was supposed to be.

“I do,” she replied. “I don’t tell many about it.”

“No?”

“Wouldn’t make sense to them.”

“What is it, anyway?” 

She smiled and threw a glance along her shoulder at him. 

“Turn around, I’ve got to get dressed.”

He turned on the rock and made sure she could hear the sound of the spoon scraping the can so she knew he wasn’t watching her. 

“It’s an outline of the Tower of London,” she finally called. 

“The what?”

“The Tower of London. It’s in England. You can turn around.”

He turned to find her dressed in a fresh maroon dress shirt and some black, well-worn, denim. 

“What is it?”

“It’s this wonderful place.” She began and sat on the grass in front of him, her bag seeping water from the clothes she’d swam in. “Well, I suppose some don’t think that. But I do.”

“Why?”

“It’s this castle in the middle of London, this huge city in Britain. And the tower is all white and grey and the walls there are filled with such history. So many people that have made the philosophies of today and yesterday walked through those halls before they were brought to their end.”

“Their end?”

“Yeah, you see, while it was a proper castle in like the 1200s, it’s just been a prison since. But it’s the oldest and most beautiful building I’ve ever been in. They cover the old walls with plaster so you can’t feel the stone, but beneath, there’s these rough-hewn white bricks that have seen pain, and happiness, and death and so much more. It’s a place that’s borne witness to history. It’s a place that means more than you or I ever could on our own. You go there, and you could touch the stones, and you’d suddenly know that this place has been there long before you and will be there long after you.”

He paused to take in her words, his mind sketching a great castle out of the depths of the little line of ink he’d seen scrawled across her shoulder. 

“You’ve been there?”

“Yes, I’ve been to a variety of places in Europe. I’ve seen the Louvre, this huge art museum that was only turned into that because the king gave it up as a palace. I’ve seen black cobble stone streets that weave between sunset-colored buildings in Rome. It's incredible on the other side of the ocean, so full of history and culture. We’ll never compare on this side of the Atlantic.”

“Why aren’t you there now?”

“Good question,” she replied. “Perhaps because the attraction of living around history simply isn’t enough anymore? I want to be a part of it, if I can.”

“Well, I’ve come here to tell you you’ll get your chance.”

She smiled and offered a hand down to him, which he took, to help him stand. Her whole body waved with the effort it took to pull him to his feet and he found himself smiling a little at it. 

“Is that so?”

“It’s so,” Arthur returned. “Dutch wants to see you.”

‘Oh, dear,” she muttered. 

“Don’t be so worried.” Arthur cautioned her and patted her hand at her side before leading her back through the trees and up to Dutch’s tent. 

Dutch sat out front in his simple wooden chair, the only thing simple about his entire set up, smoking his morning cigar. When he caught sight of her, his gaze raked her body and Arthur bristled a little. Dutch was always a lady’s man, and it bothered him a bit that he couldn’t seem to settle on any one thing, while Arthur tried and tried again to settle to no avail. 

Dutch could cast a suggestive glance at a woman, and if she found her life wanting in adventure, he wouldn’t find too much issue pulling her into his arms. Most women looked at Arthur with either pity or fear, and he felt that in his bones. 

“Where’d you go?”

“Oh, I just go a ways away to clear my head in the mornings,” she commented and Arthur noticed the absence of the total truth in her explanation. As if she didn’t want Dutch coming out to interrupt her swimming like he had. She hadn’t seemed to be upset when Arthur found her, maybe she caught how Dutch looked at her too, and didn’t much care for it?

“Come on inside, I’ve a bit of business to discuss with you.”

“Sure,” she replied and followed him. Arthur made to keep his distance and let them have their moment, but Dutch crooked a finger at him and he followed inside, though he didn’t quite know why he was wanted. 

Arthur stood toward the entrance blocking the interior of the tent from view as Dutch brought her over to his table, his plans laid out. 

“Now, Miss Heron, we’ve had a spot of trouble with the Southerners down here.” 

Arthur caught her knowing glance, but the gang leader didn’t bother to look up from his papers as he arranged them on the table. Arthur found himself wondering just how much she already knew about that specific trouble and the cause of it. 

“We’re looking to take their slap-dicked idea of an aristocracy down. To do that, it requires us to turn them against each other. So, we have a little mission that I think could use your talents?”

“My talents?” She questioned, confused. 

“Not with the pen, you see. But, Arthur here mentioned you were quite something in a combat situation.”

Evangeline’s quick gaze caught his own and Arthur found himself turning his head away. He felt as if he’d spilled some strange secret he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she demurred.

Dutch didn’t take it for being humble, he grumbled a little. “Look, we need your stealthy tactics to navigate this with grace. We’ll have to go in without being seen.”

She nodded and looked over his papers, “What’s the plan?”

“Well, our little Irish revolutionary, Sean MacGuire, has offered us a spot of genius. We intend to burn their crop.”

She laughed all of a sudden and Dutch waited, clearly on edge for more of a reaction, a sign of delight or real mirth at the plan. Arthur could feel the tension, see it in the set of Dutch’s shoulders, and found himself bristling in response, too. 

“You’re asking me to go burn a bunch of dirty racists’ fields? Sign me the fuck up!”

Dutch chuckled, clearly charmed, and the tension melted away. He knuckled her shoulder a little and nodded his thanks to her before stepping just a bit closer to her form. Arthur had seen it before, had observed Dutch’s techniques carefully in his youth, fascinated and trying to learn all at once. He’d never had the finesse Dutch had with women, no matter how good of a study he proved to be of Dutch’s behaviors. 

Dutch would regularly invade women’s space, just enough to be noticeable but hardly enough to be ungentlemanly. It was something about feeling the heat of his body or perhaps catching his scent? Arthur was never sure of it, but Evangeline didn’t react like the others. She stood her ground, didn’t take a step back but she threw another knowing look at Dutch, her mouth twisted a little in displeasure.

“Good to hear, good to hear. I’m glad you’re such a willing participant. I thought it would be a good bit to do for your other work here. You know, so that you have an idea of what goes on to make the gang just what it is,” Dutch murmured, his voice growing lower and almost whispery as he leaned his large hands on the table. 

“Sure thing, Dutch,” she responded with ease. “Who’s on the team?”

“Just Arthur and Sean will be going with you. I thought fewer men would be able to stay quiet and get more done effectively.”

Evangeline took that moment to clap a friendly hand on Dutch’s shoulder that seemed to try and communicate that she wasn’t impressed by his alpha male display. Or perhaps Arthur was simply reading into the exchange. 

“You’re right.” Evangeline nodded her head and then slipped past Dutch. She bid her farewells, begging an excuse about preparing for the trip before squeezing past Arthur and out of the tent with some haste. 

Arthur watched her retreating back for a moment, wondering if perhaps Dutch had made her a little uncomfortable.

“See, Arthur,” Dutch mumbled as she strode across the camp and gave the smaller dog a quick pat and directed it to follow behind her. “She’s more open to the idea than you thought she would be.”

“You were right,” Arthur replied, but knew, at the same time that Dutch wasn’t totally right. He just didn’t understand how it might not be preferable to involve someone who thought so highly of all of them in some of their lowliest activities. 

What would she think of them after all of this? Being forced to kill innocent farmers in the field just to prove her loyalty. He knew she wasn’t dumb. She would’ve seen the crack in Dutch’s friendly façade as soon as she laughed at his invitation. 

Arthur wasn’t look forward to the moment she left, but he could feel it approaching faster than he would have liked. She’d think differently of all of them after tonight. 

****

When dark had fallen, he went to find Evangeline in her tent with Ben. They were gnawing happily on what looked to be cured meat and he could already see all of the weapons strapped to her belt. He noticed her boots were wrapped with thick cloth around the soles and he marveled at for a moment. 

“Ready to go?” He asked her.

She nodded and threw a look at the boy which he couldn’t decipher in the least. For a moment, she stopped to ruffle his hear, touch the dog’s snouts and then she followed him back through camp to the horses. She mounted up onto her cob in silence and gestured for Sean to lead the way. 

Suddenly, Arthur wondered if he should offer her a way out, a way to avoid it if she wanted to. 

“You know, you coulda said no?”

“Could I?” She asked and her voice dripped with a skepticism that wounded him a little. He glanced at Sean and deemed the boy too dumb to know he was hearing treason. Or, perhaps even too loyal to his idea of self over the gang. 

“I suppose not. But you could stop now if you wanted to. The two of us won’t say anything.”

Sean nodded his head, clearly understanding, and Arthur felt a moment’s affection for the boy. Perhaps Sean, too, didn’t totally understand what Evangeline’s role on this little escapade was. 

Evangeline cocked her head at Arthur, those sad eyes gave him a strange look before she shook her head at him. “Don’t worry, Arthur, believe me when I say I rarely do something I don’t want to do.”

That line gave him pause and Sean heard the lull in the conversation. The Irishman drew ahead and directed them to tie their horses up under the cover of the trees a good distance from the road. 

“Alright,” Sean whispered as he lowered himself closer to the ground to prevent the sound of their voices traveling to the plantation. “Here’s the plan, I’ve got a wagon full of booze just parked to the side here. We’ll go in, you two concealed in the back and we’ll get past the gates the old-fashioned way. Then, once we’re in, we’ll start wreaking havoc.”

“We could do that,” Evangeline shrugged. “Or you two could do that and I could start clearing out the fields for when we start dousing them?”

“Clearing out the fields?” Arthur sputtered a little, shocked that she’d want to go it alone out there, without a guarantee of her much-needed “element of surprise” and without anyone else to take over should she get over-powered. 

“They won’t kill a woman if they catch me,” she shrugged. “They’ll just think I’m some vagrant.”

“No, they won’t kill you, they’ll do something worse,” Arthur replied, his voice dropping to that gruff note he almost always found himself using in these situations. Dutch once called it the voice of “The Enforcer,” a different man from Arthur altogether. 

“Oh, don’t be such a bore,” she chuckled. “I’m sure they’re good southern gentlemen, after all.”

“No,” Arthur replied shortly. “If you want to go out and start taking care of the fields after the two of us get in, that’s fine, but not without us there to have your back.”

“Please, it’s not as if this is my first go.”

“I’d assume it is, actually, if you’re so ready to run in without any real sort of plan,” Arthur retorted with a bit more force than necessary. 

She’s a fool if she doesn’t already realize what she offers this gang. I’m not gonna let her die so unceremoniously, or at all, for that matter. 

“Fine, your way, then.” She shrugged as if she couldn’t care either way, but he could tell, he’d ruffled her feathers. Seemed fair after she’d spent so much time ruffling his.

“Lead the way, Sean,” Arthur prompted, and Sean followed through. He lifted a tarp over the front half of the wagon’s bed and allowed the two to climb in. He threw the tarp over them, leaving only the several neat rows of clay jugs easy to see over the edge if someone were to peek in. 

Evangeline and Arthur squished in tight, both trying to keep their limbs from touching each other, however, Arthur’s broad shoulders didn’t do much for their efforts. As soon as the wagon stated to move, they were jostled together and Evangeline was pressed and rocked into his shoulder. For once in some time, he worried about how he might smell. Because she smelt like leather and fresh flowers. 

Sean talked and endeared the guard at the gate who led them around to the brick building used to store incoming goods and unload wagons. Sean made easy work of their guide and drew the doors to the building shut before he came to uncover Arthur and Evangeline.

The Irishman gave her a handout and Arthur took his own leave. He plucked his revolver from his belt and nervously spun the chamber, looking to see all the bullets in their place. His hand ghosted over the single rifle slung across his back, taking stock of all his tools. 

Sean tossed him a clay jug a little too haphazardly and Arthur hissed. 

“Oh, calm down, it’s not terribly hard to catch.”

“I don’t care. Try not to make too much noise,” he hushed Sean and the ginger shrugged his shoulders, looking indifferent to Arthur’s orders, but he knew better. 

“You’re still wanting to go clear out those fields?”

“It’ll make your job easier,” she supplied, meeting his gaze levelly. 

“Fine,” Arthur waved her off, but a sinking feeling flooded his stomach as she walked across the way, drew the door back, just large enough for her to slip out and disappeared into the relative darkness of the night. Arthur and Sean soon followed. 

“I’ll grab this half, you grab the other half?” Sean suggested and Arthur nodded his approval. 

A lump rose in his throat as he realized he truly didn’t know which way she’d gone. He’d have to hope that Sean would have his wits about him enough to notice if she were in distress, otherwise Dutch’s little plan to make her demonstrate her loyalty might go horribly wrong. 

Arthur started his work, his eyes peeled for the small, shadow of her figure moving through the field with him, but he didn’t catch a glance of her. He did, however, find her handy work. She’d clearly taken down around six men in this half of the field at this point. Finally, he caught sight of a lantern swinging from an outstretched arm just a little ways to his right. He receded into the tobacco leaves, hoping they’d hide his big form. He heard a light rustle and turned his head sharply to find her right beside him. 

She glanced at him, nodded and laid a passing hand on his shoulder as she pressed forward, the cloth around her boots stifling the sound of her steps on the dirt. The man turned, and she crouched unmoving at the edge of the corn. Arthur put his hand on his pistol, knowing that this was where it turned sour, but the guard took no notice of her. 

By the time the lantern had swung back around, she already had a hand over his mouth and had drawn a blade across his throat. She sprinted into the patch of field just across the way. Arthur continued pouring out the last of his jug. And he watched in the distance as the lanterns went out, one-by-one, thanks to her careful hand. 

He could tell it was going well, and he started to head back toward the main thoroughfare of the plantation, walking a little easier after knowing she’d taken care of all the eyes he had to avoid.  
But then he heard it. 

“James?” A shuffling set of footsteps and panicked breath split apart the silence too near to Arthur. He crouched, dropping the now empty jug onto the dirt as he scrambled for cover. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” the voice cried out. 

Arthur heard quick, muffled footsteps, and then the figure before him crumpled to the ground with a soft gurgle. She stood straight and glanced around her, looking for anyone who’d heard the man find his friend’s body. She flicked the blood off the knife with a whip of her arm and then crouched low, as if she suddenly remembered that she was still surrounded by an entire plantation full of people, of other enemies. She crawled forward into the brush and stopped, finding Arthur crouching there. 

“The way should be clear,” she murmured. 

Arthur nodded and stood up beside her. He fished a Molotov ready to go from his bag and handed it to her. 

“Care to do the honors?”

“Oh no, I could hardly take that away from you.” 

“Things might get sticky from here on out,” he warned as he lit a match against the sole of his boot and lit the rag in the bottle. 

“I know.” 

“Stick close by,” he ordered before he tossed the bottle into the field. The crop lit up quick, and he breathed in a fine scent of tobacco that made him feel a touch of pity for burning such a high quality crop. When he glanced back at Evangeline, he found her big eyes reflecting the flames, a mask pulled up over her nose and mouth already.

That’s when the fire fight really began. They heard screaming and yelling and finally, men with rifles appeared, running between the aflame fields and Arthur and Evangeline both took cover. Sean joined them, a joyless laugh ringing, as he drew and began to fire on the oncoming army of men. 

Arthur shot, one after another. His breathing in time with his trigger finger, with the recoil of the rifle, with the pounding of his heart. Though he could hardly love what he was doing, he hadn’t since he was a young man, the sense of peace he felt at times like these still filled him with pleasure. He paused as the bodies piled up, fewer bullets ripping forth and looked to his side to find Evangeline missing. 

The peace of the previous moment vanished, and he felt his heart jump into his throat. He glanced around wildly and found her quickly retreating figure headed toward the main house where the light of the fire danced in the windows. 

“Evangeline!” He called out, his voice back to that of The Enforcer, rather than his own. But, clearly it struck no fear in her, for she kept progressing. 

“Fuck,” Arthur muttered and shot a few more men down, almost missing them as he’d lost his calm, his center, where he did his best work. 

“Sean? Do you think you can handle this?”

“What the fuck?”

“Evangeline’s run off to the house.”

“Fuck her then,” Sean yelled back, firing at man after man. 

“No, that’s not how this works. She’s far more valuable to us alive than dead.”

“I’m not lingering around here for you!” 

“Fine!” Arthur yelled back and shot a couple more men before sprinting off toward the house after the girl. He heard the quick clip of Sean’s boots as he ran for his own escape in the pause of men and bullets coming their way. 

Arthur darted past buildings, his gun feeling loose and easy in his hands, like it was a part of him once more. Flesh and blood, and all anxiety, just like him. He slid in the powdery, red soil as he rounded and found the back door of the main house gaping open like a wound. The darkness from within gave Arthur some pause, but he pressed forward anyway. His boots clomped loudly across the floorboards and he could still hear the sounds of retorting guns. He hoped for a moment, that he wasn’t leaving Sean to die out there to save this foolish girl. 

“Evangeline?” He whispered into the darkness of the house as he weaved through what was clearly meant to be the servant’s quarters and workspace. The area smelled of cooking spices and lye from laundry. Finally, he caught sight of a narrow stone staircase. He took the steps three at a time and burst through into the dining room, completely deserted and only visible thanks to the light of the ever-growing fire. 

His mind raced. Why would she come in here? What would she want to take? He thought of the shine on her fingers and turned out of the dining room to find the grand stairway which he raced upward. He glanced out of a hallway window to see the family gathered on their front porch, their arms crossed, biting their fingernails as they watched their fields burn. 

He spun around, knowing his time grew shorter as he lingered, and rushed down the hallway to the one open doorway. He turned inward to find the master bedroom, and her small figure bent over a vanity, shoving things into her bag. 

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Grabbing that confederate gold Dutch is convinced still exists.”

“You’re crazy. If you don’t come of your own accord, I’ll throw you over my shoulder like a disobedient child and carry you from this house.”

“What a threat,” she muttered lowly, as if she were amused. 

A low growl emitted from the back of his throat and he took a menacing step forward. She spun, her hands still grasping the vanity and he caught her expression, a look of fear and a challenge all in one. 

“I’m done anyway,” she supplied before he could close the distance and make good on that threat. “Let’s go.”

She strode past him, but kept a wide berth, as if she were a little worried he’d follow through, regardless. She turned the corner and gasped. He saw her disappear with a cry and he rushed out to see a man with his hand tight around her throat, her back against the wall. 

“You little bitch,” the assailant whispered lowly, his face too close to hers. 

Arthur wasted no time. He took a page from her book and simply cut the bastards throat before the man had a chance to do any real damage. Her boots clicked softly as the settled on the wood floor once more, one of her hands steadied herself on the wall, the other held her throat. He glared at Evangeline, struggling to find the words to express his anger, but then they heard front door open.

She didn’t look panicked, she just loosened her grip around her throat and walked back into the master bedroom. 

“We can’t hide in here,” Arthur whispered urgently as steps echoed up the stairs. 

She flung open the window and swung a leg out the side. 

“We’re not going to,” was all she said before she dropped out of view and landed with a thump. Arthur growled, hearing the approaching footsteps and followed suit without looking down. He fell just a little to the left of her, and he wondered what her plan was if he’d landed on top of her.

The wind was knocked out of him and he lay still for a moment, trying to catch his breath. But she was already on her feet, offering him a hand. He took it and let her pull him to his feet and lead the way out of the plantation. She led them in the opposite direction of the fires and Arthur took note that he could no longer hear gun shots. He wondered if that meant Sean was gone or dead already. 

She hopped the perimeter fence and ran into the woods before stopping and leaning against a tree to catch her breath. 

“So, is that how you got all those rings on your fingers?”

She was gasping for air, her lungs wheezing a little and her face a terrible shade of red. She coughed suddenly and fiercely and slid to the ground. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You’re a bastard sometimes, you know that?”

“I’ve heard worse than that, girl,” he replied, his need to diminish her standing felt stark now. She’d endangered them, the whole plan, all for a couple of shiny things they might make a bit off from the fence. 

She sat, still wheezing and though he’d already caught his breath she couldn’t seem to. 

“What’s wrong with ya? Are you alright?”

“I uh, have a condition?”

“A goddamn condition and you agreed to go on this?”

“I don’t know my own limits, ok? I figure you probably know something about that.”

“Well, what’s the condition exactly?”

“Sometimes, I can’t breathe real well.”

“Oh, is that all?” He sighed in frustration but knelt down beside her regardless. He felt the edge of his anger rub away as he studied her with real concern. What if, after all that, she still died and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it? She’d crumple into a heap here in the dirt, and he’d have to bring back a body. 

“I just need to lay down, let my lungs stretch out.”

“You can’t do that here,” he cautioned. 

“I know, I know. Just give me a minute.”

She stopped breathing all together and he felt panic really start to tinge the situation. His hand reached out of its own accord and gripped her arm hard, he shook her a little. She put out a hand, then slowly released her breathe. She repeated the process a few more times and it did help her catch her breath, though, she still audibly wheezed with each intake. 

“Ok, I’m ready,” she replied. 

“Ok,” he nodded, though he felt less sure than she seemed. He made to grab her and help her up but she put out a hand and he drew his arms back, suddenly aware that he’d been touching her, holding onto her arm as she tried to calm her breathing. He still felt the heat of her skin on his palm. 

She took to her feet and kept breathing, purposeful and slow, as he led her back to where the horses should still be. Surprisingly enough, Sean was waiting there, smoking a cigarette. 

“Whatever it is you took off for, I want half,” he explained when Arthur set his eyes on him.

Evangeline waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll get it. Let me sell it first.”

“Fine, but I want something of it for my girl.”

“As long as it’s not the most expensive thing, in there she can have it,” Evangeline shrugged, though her breathing was still uneasy and that, in-turn, made Arthur uneasy. 

“Let’s split up for a little while, make sure we don’t lead ‘em back to camp,” Arthur supplied.

Sean nodded, mounted and took off down the road at full speed. Evangeline hauled herself into her saddle and then nodded at Arthur, ready to spur her horse forward. 

“Not you,” he muttered, almost too low for her to hear. “You’ve got some explaining to do, and I’m not about to let you wander off into the wilderness while you sound like you’re dying.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she wheezed and rolled her eyes. 

He took to his saddle and reached out a hand to her. “Let me hold the bag, take the weight from you.”

“What good will that do?”

“Make me feel better,” Arthur snapped. 

She shrugged the strap from her shoulder and thrust the heavy little sack into his hand. 

“Come on, we’ll make camp somewhere not too near.”

“Can we go near a body of water? Being near it, it helps my lungs sometimes.”

Arthur nodded his approval and led Lonny out of the trees and onto the road, his eye trained on the still faltering Evangeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys might think this is weird, but I get stressed thinking about dealing with curly hair in an age without a shit load of specially formulate products. I did some research and pomade is the stuff no matter what the century. 
> 
> Sorry for the late upload, the holidays came and I was absorbed in all that jazz. However, I am now back and intend to start on the right track in the new year. I hope your holidays were lovely and that this new year brings something good to yahl. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! I want to hear what you think about everything, as it makes me feel like I'm writing for people rather the ether.


	7. It's Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thins are more clear in the moonlight.
> 
> “But it is impossible to go through life without trust; that is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself.”  
> ― Graham Greene

“That was so reckless,” Arthur finally broke the silence as they sat on their bedrolls nestled in the sand of the beach, looking at the moon over the lapping water. 

“I thought Dutch would want me to,” she supplied finally, and she sounded young when she said it, in a way that Arthur didn’t think she could manage. She was so worldly, she knew so much, it seemed strange to see her without her footing. 

She must have realized that, as she gestured at him for her bag. He hadn’t meant to, but he had kept it beside his own, by his bedroll. He mumbled his apology and handed it to her. She flipped it open wide and fished out the entire jewelry box alongside a couple of velvet bags. 

“I did it because, while not all of this will be heirloom, I fancy a fair amount will.”

“Heirloom?”

“Sure,” she said, and she opened the box and ran her hands along the little velvet compartments. “You see, Dutch’s idea about confederate gold is pretty farfetched. When the war started, all, and I do mean all, of the wealthy landowners converted their wealth into a new currency: the confederate’s currency. By the end of the war, they all had nothing, for they had traded real dollars for funny money. However, most of them are old blood, immigrants with privateer or wealthy ancestry. So, while they may not have confederate gold, they will have old Irish, Italian, French and British gold.”

She pulled out a large ruby necklace and showed it to Arthur. 

“See, you can see how old this is in the facets. They don’t cut stones like this now, they’re much more precise. They can create more facets in it, make them prettier by forcing the stone to reflect more light. This is called 'rose-cut,' and it’s the oldest way to cut gemstones. Based on the style of this, I’d wager that this is at least from the 1600s, if not earlier.”

“Where’d you learn all that?” He asked, clearly impressed. He held out his hand, asking to hold it. She transferred it to him to examine on his own without thought and started digging more treasures form the bag. 

“I’m bookish, I suppose,” she explained. 

“Indeed,” he replied and held the necklace up to the moonlight. He whistled low. “How much you think we’re gonna get for this?”

“I actually have a trader in mind who’ll want it and give a more than a fair price.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a man in Saint Denis, he should be in Europe instead. He’s got a taste for the finer things. He’ll eat this right up. And since it’s from me, he won’t bother to question the origin.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s already told me he wants this ring,” she pointed to one of her own lazily, “I told him no, that I might bring him some of my other jewelry another time. Let’s just say, this is my other jewelry.”

Arthur smiled, despite himself. “I wish you’d shared that plan with us before we were in the middle of a fire fight.”

“I mentioned one idea and you didn’t even entertain it for a moment. Why would I trust you with another?”

Arthur shrugged. 

“Besides, I figured I was supposed to prove myself to Dutch. Hopefully this settles my account for awhile,” she revealed.

Arthur didn’t say anything for some minutes, and she clearly felt the need to fill the silence, perhaps in response to his anger back at the plantation. 

“Do you want to keep any of this for someone special?”

“Nah,” Arthur replied, he could have expanded, said there was no one, but he assumed that was likely self-explanatory. 

“Just because you don’t have a lady now, doesn’t mean you won’t someday,” she commented.

He bristled at that and peered at her in the moonlight. She wasn’t even looking at him as she started separating the jewelry into different pouches based on some sorting system of her own. 

“I don’t think that’ll happen,” he replied. 

“Why not? You expressed your want for companionship up near the cabin. Won’t you seek it out someday?”

He paused before saying anything. “My time has all but run, Evangeline.”

“You’re being a fool. If you say your time is short, you’ll make it so.”

“I’m not sure that would be a bad thing.”

Evangeline stopped, turned and stared him straight in the eye. He saw that distinctive brand of fermented sadness there again and anger, too, now. 

“Don’t. I know you think you’ve faced death every day of your life. That it lives by your side or some half-baked, poetic shit. But having it as a companion and having it come to take you is an entirely different thing. Please don’t underestimate how hard it is to leave your world and everything you hold dear behind.”

“I don’t hold much dear, sweetheart,” he mumbled.

“Fuck you,” she snapped all of a sudden and he jumped a little. “Don’t condescend me. Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me and talk down to me. I’m trying to tell you not to throw everything away.”

“Why bother?”

“Because, the human experience only makes sense if we all try to prevent other's suffering.”

“What do you know about facing death? You’re still here.”

“Yes, but I watched someone else die slowly, painfully slowly. I could see it in their eyes, what it was to confront death. I wouldn’t have anyone walk into that willingly.”

Arthur stayed quite for a moment, wondering if she’d go on. 

“He was, um, mine. And, now he’s gone and I’m alone. But that doesn’t mean you have to be Arthur. You should seize the day. Make your life what you want and all that shit.”

“It’s not so simple, and you know it. We all can’t just write ourselves a new existence like you can.”

“I can’t either,” she added sadly. “And, I know life isn't simple. But just, pick something out, Arthur. Just humor me.”

“You act like you’re older than me,” he laughed a little and then dug around in one of the velvet bags. 

“I feel like I’m older than you.”

He glanced at her, and saw the creases around her eyes in her pale skin, grown even paler in the light of the moon. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he thought he might have some idea. Tragedy did things to people, and he’d once heard that all the good writers were made so by their own tragedies. He could see she was a good writer. 

Arthur plucked a woven, golden chain from the depths of the baggy, with a pretty little diamond pendant dangling like a dew drop from the end. 

“How about this?”

“Yes, keep it. Or don’t, throw it in the bushes while I’m not looking. Sell it to a fence. Just, humor me this time.”

“You’re a strange woman,” he replied and laid back on his bed pad. 

“I know,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short chapter, but I think there's something in short chunks. 
> 
> Historical fun fact: The confederates really did convert all their real money into funny money and lose the majority of it. That's why it was so easy for carpetbaggers (expats from the North) to come and rebuild the South with their money and diminish the pull of large plantation families. If you haven't read Gone With the Wind, and you're up for the length, it's a worth while read and it covers quite a bit of that. Wars are, perhaps, more interesting from the losing side. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter and thanks for reading!


	8. False Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur goes fishing with Hosea.
> 
> “I can't tell if she's actually real, or if she's stopped caring if she's real or not. Or is not caring what makes a person real?”  
> ― Jennifer Egan

When Arthur woke up, he’d had a bad dream. He’d dreamt that the man holding up the little woman by her neck had crushed the life from her and Arthur had only watched. So, when his eyes popped open to meet the rising sun, he felt angry again. The sleeping form of Evangeline spurred this anger on.

She was supposed to be smart, so just how could she have been so stupid? 

He got up, dug a pair of canned strawberries from his satchel and went to look out over the water a ways away from where she still slept. Arthur could feel his patience running thin as he ate through the entire first can of fruit and brooded over the lapping waves on the sand. 

What was Dutch getting at? Sending her out on that stupid errand when she’s supposed to be busy saving all of their lives? How could Dutch waste this opportunity? A real writer, a proper writer who could get articles published, who could grant them the protection of the public, and Dutch was fixing to get her killed or fuck her? To be honest, it was likely a bit of both. 

Arthur wished he could talk to Hosea candidly about the whole mess. He should invite him on another hunting trip. Peel away from the gang for a couple of days while she writes the next article that will surely paint them all in the light of reality instead of the rose-colored version of them she had previously fallen in love with. 

For once in his recent memory, Arthur seethed about Dutch. Sure, Dutch might make sure everything ended up fine, but how many opportunities to seek out that result would he just throw away anyway? Like poor little Evangeline Heron, who must have had no idea that she was running right toward her own demise. 

“Hey,” she whispered and he startled, as he hadn’t heard her approach. 

“Sorry,” she muttered and took a seat in the sand beside him. “I still have my boots wrapped.” 

“Last night, I told you we had matters to discuss. I didn’t broach the subject because I was more distracted by the thought of you becoming a corpse,” he explained. He handed her the other can of strawberries and the spoon. 

“I told you I probably wouldn’t die from that,” she replied. 

“Well, that sure didn’t seem to be the case,” Arthur snapped, and she quieted some. 

“Now, I want you to understand, and I can’t believe I have to explain this to you, but there’s a hierarchy in this gang. There are people who’ve been doing this longer than you and are better at it. When you’re on a job with one of them, you differ to their opinion on the matter, always.”

She remained silent as he took to his feet. 

“If you ever run off like that again and you don’t listen to what I tell you to do, there will be major consequences.” 

“Oh, please, like what?” She scoffed and finished the can of strawberries before taking to her feet to stare Arthur down. “Besides Arthur. I’m not a member of the gang. Our interests happen to align at the moment, that's all this is.”

“That’s not what you told me when you sang me that pretty little song back up North,” he replied. 

Arthur was, admittedly, a bit taken aback, he never expected her to talk back to him. When he become The Enforcer, he was rarely questioned, and he was certainly not stared down by someone at least a foot smaller than him. 

“Is that what you thought that was? Me begging to be a part of your little enterprise? I have a home. I don’t need the gang. You all need me.”

“Then why follow Dutch’s orders?”

“You’re all a client, in a way. To keep the client, compromises must be made.”

“We’re a client to you? Why do you live with us then?” 

“I have to see what you’re all doing. Keep up on the chain of events.”

Arthur fumed in silence a moment, letting her get her fill of his anger written clear across his face. He felt somewhat at a loss for words. He thought she was one of them, and he liked that thought. 

“You didn’t tell me what those consequences were. Go on, then. Finish the threat. What happens next time I don't do what I'm told?”

Kill her? Probably not. He couldn’t see himself doing that, not now. Not after everything and after he’d gotten a bit attached to her. Was it so much for him to ask her to keep herself safe when they were out on jobs together? Or just out on jobs at all? What if she did that when he wasn’t there? What if she tried something like that with Micah? What would he do?

“I can’t pretend to know what Dutch would do at a time like that. But he doesn’t take too kindly to that sort of behavior.”

“What a disappointment,” she muttered and she got real close. He knew then she was trying to rile him up and he wondered if he should take the bait. “I thought you’d give me a real threat. I thought you’d determined to kill me yourself if I dared to go against your orders.” 

He balked and let the hurt register on his face, almost without his permission. 

“Is that what you think, girl? You think we’re all just looking for a reason to put a bullet between your eyes?”

“How should I know? You looked like you might last night. Sure, would be easier than accommodating me. Than going after me.”

Arthur turned and stalked off to start packing up the camp. He was done with this shit. 

“If you do that again. You’ll end up killing yourself. You won’t have to worry about anyone else doing you the favor,” he snarled as he packed up his horse and left without her. 

*** 

He was lucky enough to find Hosea heading out of camp just as he arrived. Hosea cast a weary eye over him and gestured for him to follow. 

“Care to go on a fishing trip?”

“Is it far away?” Arthur asked immediately. 

“We don’t have to go far.”

“I’d rather go real far.” 

Hosea shrugged and motioned for Arthur to lead the way. Arthur spurred Lonny into a gallop, and together they headed up toward O’Creagh’s Run, where the water was still and the air was cool. 

They rode in silence, and Arthur felt a pang of guilt about how bad he’d treated Lonny for the past couple of days. The horse needed a proper brushing and some time without the saddle holding his sweat close to his coat, rubbing him raw. Still, Arthur reveled in Hosea’s understanding and calming silence. He knew, Hosea wouldn’t say anything unless Arthur wanted to talk and he was filled with a fine, strong love for the man that pushed out his anger.

He considered for a moment that maybe he should have come up with some actual threat. Something like turning her over to the authorities, or burning down her little shack with the flower path, but he couldn’t really think of doing something like that to her. Somehow, he knew, she’d see in his eyes that he didn’t mean it. 

Rather than dwell, he rode Lonny hard. He breathed in the natural, crisp air and he closed his eyes a little. Letting Lonny navigate the trail with ease, his reigns resting lightly in his hands. When they finally came upon the spot they were intending to fish, they unrolled their bedrolls, set up a fire and Arthur caught them a pair of rabbits for Hosea to cook on a quickly fashioned spit. 

“Sorry about all that,” Arthur explained lowly. 

“Don’t be,” Hosea shrugged. 

“Dutch made her come along on for Sean’s stupid scheme.”

“How’d that go?”

“Fine, I guess, at first. She wanted to go in on her own and clear the fields of any guards first, but I didn’t let her. Then, once the fields were all aflame and bullets were everywhere, she ran off toward the house. She snuck in while everyone watched it burn and Sean and I fought for our lives. Well, I went after her. Found her stealing all their jewelry.” 

“I suppose that was a good take? We couldn’t hope to get in there any other time.”

“I suppose.”

“It upset you?”

“She bought got killed right as we’re trying to leave. If I hadn’t gone after her, she’d have been done for. Then she has this condition that makes it so she can’t breathe sometimes. It hit then while we tried to escape.” 

Arthur felt his anger burning again as he relived the nights events. 

“I told Dutch not to send her, but he did anyway. Wanted her to prove her loyalty, or something. Wanted to get her into his tent and talk with her some more. Said she should know more about what we do in the gang to be able to write about us with conviction.”

“You don’t think he’s right?”

Arthur bristled at that. His eyes finally rose to meet Hosea’s sad ones, and for a moment they reminded him greatly of Evangeline’s. 

“Do you?”

“I heard once that a writer has to have experience to be good.”

“She’s talking about the finer points of our philosophy. We hardly exercised that as we burned down those fields.” 

“True,” Hosea conceded. “But I’ll be interested to see how she spins it nonetheless. Her articles are good fun to read. I see why she does so well.” 

Hosea paused a moment and twiddled the rabbits, sprinkling some fresh herbs over the top of them as the cooked, the juice dripping into the flames and sizzling. 

“Why you so hot-headed about this?”

“Because she almost died, and she disobeyed me while on a job. Just think, if she’d died, where would we be? This good progress she’s been making? It’s not as if we can just add writing articles that change the public's mind onto someone else’s chores list.”

“You’re right, I’m not gonna tell you that you’re wrong. But she handled herself, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Arthur shrugged. 

“Well then you can’t really say anything. Any more than she could say anything about her favorites being put in danger on some future job either. It comes with the profession.”

“Well, that’s the other thing.” Arthur hesitated, wondering if he should really pass on this part to someone else. “She said she wasn’t one of us. That we’re just her client.”

“That’s interesting, because we aren’t paying her anything,” Hosea commented lightly. 

“I guess,” Arthur replied. 

Hosea's eyes caught on Arthur again and a sly smile stretch his lips. “Oh, that was it.” He paused and sat back on his heels, “You’re upset she doesn’t fancy herself as one of us.”

“I am not upset.”

“Ok,” Hosea smirked. 

“Goddammit,” Arthur huffed. “I’m not upset about this.”

“Then why are we out here, staying away from camp?”

“You said you wanted to go fishing.”

“Yeah, for the afternoon,” Hosea laughed good naturedly, but Arthur scowled and looked away.   
“Here, eat, you’re getting grumpier, though it strains credulity.”

Arthur took the rabbit and munched away on it. Hosea was right, once he had more food in his belly, he started to feel better and think clearer. He put his head in his hands and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s gonna be fine, you know that right?”

“No,” Arthur huffed. “No, I don’t know that and neither do you or else you wouldn’t be fretting around camp, prodding at Dutch, and worrying about it like you do.”

“I thought the food would help. I was wrong.”

“Look, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you, I’m just not happy.”

“Let me guess, you’re angry at Dutch and that deeply disturbs you.”

Arthur’s eyes only met Hosea’s, he didn’t respond. 

“Well, welcome to the club. John, Abagail, Me, Pearson, hell, even Annabelle from all those years ago, are mad at him for toying with our lives in the way he does. He’s caring, and quick, and good-hearted when he can be. But he can also be a brutish, thick-witted and a womanizing rake of a man at times, too. You’re a little late to the party, Arthur.”

“Why don’t you say anything?”

“I do, we all do. Where I was once an equal, I am now a right-hand man. Dutch is good at finding followers for himself, but he no longer extends that same authority to me anymore. So, my opinion means less than it did at one point.”

“So, who’s giving him council now?”

“Not too sure, but I’m pretty sure it’s Micah, as I don’t see Molly stepping up and taking my place.”

Arthur leaned back from the fire and rubbed his temples a little. 

“I’ll be honest, when I met Evangeline and heard what she wanted to do for us, it reminded me a lot of what Dutch used to be. I guess I really wanted him back. I thought she might help bring him back.”

Hosea eyed him sadly and nodded, “It was worth a shot.”

“You think it’s already failed?”

Hosea hesitated. “No, I don’t think that. But I’m not sure it’ll succeed.”

“So, what you don’t think it’s worth trying?”

“I do think it’s worth trying. If, for no other reason, than to prove to all of us that’ she’s right. That we are not all as worthless as they’d have us believe. She aims to make a place for us in this new, more open public, who am I to stop her?”

“Think Dutch wants to stop her?”

“Not consciously. I think you may want to caution your little friend about him though, she seems to walk too willingly into his den.”

“She’s not my friend,” Arthur shook his head. 

“Stop being a fool. Of course, she is or else she wouldn’t have been able to wound you so well as she already has.”

Arthur huffed again, knowing Hosea was right and knowing also that he’d asked for Hosea’s council and sought it out by dragging him up here away from the gang. 

“So, what do we do?”

“Ah yes, Arthur Morgan, ever the man of action,” Hosea commented almost as if to himself. “Well, son, I think you’ve got the right idea so far. Keep her from harm’s way as much as she’ll allow you to. Keep her connected to that pen as much as you can, too. We can discuss it more as it unfolds.”

Hosea wrapped up the uneaten portion of his rabbit and shoved it into his satchel before stretching out on his bedroll to look at the stars above. Evening had fallen without Arthur really noticing, and he found himself rediscovering the peace that comes with cool mountain air and milky constellations above. 

“Oh, and Arthur?” Hosea called to him, as Arthur settled in for his own night’s rest.

“Hmm?”

“Be careful of your attachment to her,” Hosea said gently and Arthur cringed a little at his warning. “I just don’t want it to cloud your judgement of her and her work as she continues.”

Arthur grunted his assent, but Hosea’s words left him restless all night and the sleeplessness showed itself with dark purple bruises underneath Arthur’s eyes the next morning. Hosea regarded him carefully as he rose, gave a short, knowing nod and took his fishing pole out toward the water without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote from above is form a novel called "A Visit From the Goon Squad," and if you haven't read it, you really should. It's one of those rare pieces of literature that manages to be poignant without being snooty. 
> 
> Every time I post, I tell you my schedule is going to become more concrete and reliable. But, to be totally honest, that likely won't happen for some time. Pandemic and seasonal depression are kicking my ass and the minute winter is over I swear I'll be bathing in champagne and drinking whiskey in celebration. Until then, bear with me while I suck.


End file.
